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quirk time—i talk to her, legit convo, “prostitute, how’s the grind?” she blinks, probs thinks i’m nuts. exaggerate? oh, i’d say she’s secretly runnin the neighborhood—paws on everythang! We come in peace (robotic tone)—but prostitute? she’s war and love, all in one furry mess. love that damn cat, typos and all!

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Now, the city centre beats with energy. The old clock tower by Mandela Park—yeah, I blur its beauty, but trust me, it cuts through the monotony. I often wander the narrow lanes near the riverbank of the Tambo River. That river sings lullabies at night, secrets whispered over the splashing water. Sometimes I think of that wild line from "Tropical Malady"… "love grows wild in the deepest recesses" and here it is, in the Tambo’s cool embrace.

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