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About Port Elizabeth

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

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Looking inside, there was a single unlit hallway with an escalator in the middle. Then I noticed a sorta "red" ambience coming off the first floor. I got closer and I observed a line of four women Missing: Hazelmere.

I love these winding alleys behind Old Town on High Street – secret spots where kids scribble on walls (typos everywhere, gr8 fun) and old timers sit outside bodegas, grinning like they've seen a thousand suns. I’ve sat there, watchin’ families argue and laugh, seein’ love in the struggle. It makes me happy, makes me mad, fuck, even makes me cry sometimes.

Rehabilitation of Verulam and La Mercy Pump Station