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About Cape Town

So, picture it—grimy alley, snow fallin’. I’m signin’ “Where’s the goods, dahling?” Hands flyin’, no sound, pure drama. This chick—prolly called Natasha—signs back, “500 rubles, hot stuff!” I’m like, WHAT? 500? Robbery! Made me mad—capitalism’s a bitch. But also—kinda funny. She’s out here, freezin’, workin’. Respect, sorta. “No capes!” I’d yell—capes’d get caught in this mess!

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Now listen, there’s a park near Diepkloof: it's small, a hidden gem, where gangs of playful kids mash around yet the silence offers space to think. I get mad sometimes about how people overlook these spots—like, damn, our city’s beauty, I ate his liver with fava beans! I mean, every street corner whispers stories, even in my therapy sessions; like the talk we have on Heren Street, it’s all whispers of hope and raw pain.

Newly opened Kraaifontein library vandalised, burgled