When I was thirteen years old, my Mother moved me and my two siblings into a state house in Three Kings. Nestled on the side of a mountain with a steep backyard facing a park, it is probably the only place in Auckland where old money doesn’t dominate a suburban hillside. While we were lucky enough to live on the slope of a dead volcano, it was still one of the poorest streets that I had ever seen because it only had government houses . . .
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