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About East London

I’m vibin’, but then this dude—some pimp, prolly—steps up, mad aggressive, like, “What you lookin’ at, fam?” Bruh, I’m heated—don’t test me, I’m tryna live my truth! I’m thinkin’, “This city’s too hot,” like Lisa’s mom in *Margaret* yellin’, “I’m not your goddamn servant!”—felt that in my soul. I dip, heart racin’, but I’m laughin’ too—dude looked like he ain’t showered since Views dropped.

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Walk down Union Street – yeah, that's right, straight down the middle of chaos – and you'll bump into all sorts of characters. In my line of work – yes, I run the most kick-ass massage joint in town – I see secrets that most peasants wouldn’t dare whisper about. I’ve seen stressed-out academics sprinting like headless chickens on Lower East Street, and the damn art students railing on about "post-modern despair," like they’ve got a soul or something.

Maths in the spotlight in Makhanda this past weekend