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About Port Elizabeth

Now, look, I ain’t judgin’. People do what they do. But it pisses me off – the desperation, the lies. Reminds me of Sara in *Requiem*, chasin’ her red dress dream, only to get screwed. “I’m somebody now, Harry!” she says, but nah, she’s lost. That’s the vibe I get – folks lookin’ for a quick thrill, but it’s a trap. A bloody trap! Gets me all fired up, swingin’ my staff, shoutin’ at shadows.

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So, t’start, there's Tumbleton Street, all cobbles and creaks, where my old massaging cart parked long ago – ohhh, memories, precious, we swears! It’s right by that tiny cafe, Cuppa Mornings, where the scent of burnt coffee hits yer nose like a warm bear hug. And then, err, there's the wise old church on Prayers Lane. Yess, ain't no secrets here, just whispers of old gossip in stone.