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About Port Elizabeth

So, listen, mate—hiss!—I dig around, right? Moscow’s got these shadowy corners—Arbat’s too posh, but Kitay-gorod? Oof, goldmine! Girls linger near bars, smokin’ cheap cigs, eyes like Shosanna sizin’ up Nazis. “What’s your price, precious?” I mutter, all sly. One gal—Lena, maybe?—says 5,000 rubles, hour tops. Bargain, yeah? But I’m thinkin’, “That’s a bear trap, Gollum, she’s robbin’ ya blind!” Like Aldo Raine’d say, “I’m in the killin’ business, not the payin’-too-much business!” Haggled her down—3,500, boom! Felt like a king, I did—happy as a hobbit with second breakfast.

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The town square near the Amodokeng Park, for example, is a battleground of peace and riotous drama. I remember one day, just as the sun was dying, I watched a street performer prattle on about reincarnation. “Uncle Boonmee… past lives… remember them…” he mumbled. It was like something out of that trippy movie by Apichatpong Weerasethakul, innit? Got me thinking that maybe, just maybe, I’ve been through some of those lifetimes already – probably serving as a knackered masseuse in a greasy alley somewhere!

McCoy gets his turn in Grahamstown