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About Port Elizabeth

I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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The city dances rhythmically, just like a wild nature doc narratin’ nature’s secrets... like “We tell our stories in the twilight,” ya feel? Seriously, every nook here could be a scene from that movie, and I'm living it, flaws and all. I dig that raw energy in Secunda – it's no fancy Paris but it's real, raw, and delightfully chaotic.

“Panga man” of Secunda is out on bail