Every day we drive past them, but just what is it like for the streeties sitting at Kuirau Park each day. Journalist Kelly Makiha spends a few hours sitting on the grass and chatting to those with nowhere else to go.
The cars drive past Kuirau Park and you see the looks on their faces.
They can't believe what they're seeing. Some blatantly stare. Others try to be discreet.
But they're likely all thinking the same thing.
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Groups of people are sitting together smoking, talking, sleeping, eating and coming down off drugs with nothing much to do but wait until dark.
Some people in cars driving past whip out their phones and take a sneaky photo. These rough sleepers have from time to time seen photos of themselves on Facebook.
It's all water off a duck's back to Liz Cook.
This is her life and despite living in a fish bowl, she says she's happy.
I tell her I'm writing about why everyone seems to be congregating down at Kuirau Park. I let her know it's not my style to write "about you", instead I'd rather write with you.
She welcomes me to pull up a piece of lawn and have a yarn.
Life for Liz has been pretty grim recently.
She's originally from Murupara, has two kids, including a homeless daughter sitting just a few metres away, and she's found herself living in emergency housing.
In the past three months, she's lost her brother, mother and partner to different illnesses. You can see the sadness in her eyes.
She's lived at the Night Shelter before but, for now, she's got a regular roof over her head at the Grand Treasure on Pukuatua St.
Despite that, she's happy to pop down to Kuirau Park during the day because the "streeties" are like a community who all know each other.
She explains her daughter is a streetie and doesn't have a bed at the Night Shelter by choice and instead prefers to sleep at the Tearooms on the verandah in the Government Gardens or behind the Blues Baths.
As her daughter comes over and gets a light for her smoke, Liz politely introduces us. We briefly chat about the sadness of her dad dying. She too tells me she's happy with her lot and where she's sleeping. But is she really?
Liz described herself as like the "nan" to everyone on the street and her late partner was like the "dad".
She said Tiny Deane, from the Night Shelter, had asked them all to move to Kuirau Park to try to make the businesses happier and they were happy to oblige.
She reckoned they were "the good homeless" but said there were others around town making a bad name for the rest of them.
She introduced me to "Rua". He's the chap with the flag stuck into his shopping trolley full of belongings.
He tells me the flag is a "kotahitanga" flag symbolising the United Nations.
Liz and her friend's set-up is simple but impressive. There's a small gas burner for cooking, flask for hot drinks, a steel plate cooker for making toasties and even steak.
She says everyone within their network pitches in money for the "pantry" - an old black suitcase that contained noodles, cordial, sugar and coffee.
People are always bringing them food and every night they eat dinner brought to them by community organisations at 5pm.
On a sickness benefit, Liz's money for emergency housing and other bills is automatically taken out of her account and she is left with $150 a week.
The money allows her to dabble in synthetic drugs, something she says she is very careful about controlling.
She says their network has lost too many people to "synnies" overdoses.
They all prefer to use "synnies" because they would get pinged for drinking booze by authorities because of the liquor ban and cannabis made "your eyes too heavy".
She said those at Kuirau Park would sneak off to the bushes and smoke their "synnies" and would come back to the park to sleep it off during the day.
"A lot of synthetics users just come and sleep the day away to get through the day ... when you've got s**t to do, you do it, but if you're got nothing to do, that's all you do."
Although winter was looming, she said for now everyone was comfortable.
"We choose to be here. If there was somewhere better for us to go we'd go."
She said trying to find a permanent home was hard.
"There is nothing available and there are 10 of us all going for the same house. You get sick of that haka hula hopping around."
For now, she said most were comfortable and would sit at Kuirau Park until they were moved on.
They try to make a joke of those who drive past and stare.
"We all yell out 'wave everybody'," she joked.
"But nah, don't stare at us, we aren't on display ... It's not that bad being us. Come and spend a couple of hours with us and you might like it."