Rust

In Oamaru, heading down the east coast of the South Island, I visited a strange place called the Steampunk HQ.  It was sort of a bastard hybrid of the old pre-gentrification Travel Town (when you could get tetanus or searing burns from the jagged metal) and the Museum of Jurassic Technology.
  
  
  Outside, you could hear the waves crashing on the beach a stone’s throw away.  But you could almost hear the metal rusting in the seasalt air.
  
  The surrounding neighborhood was quaintly Victorian.