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About Cape Town

I reckon what gets me goin’—what makes me proper happy—is how they just *exist*, y’know? No shame, no fuss, just livin’. Like Llewyn, singin’ his guts out for a crowd that don’t care. “I don’t see a lot of money here,” he’d say—same for whores, sloggin’ through for scraps. But they’ve got guts, mate, guts! That’s what I love. Gets me all giddy, thinkin’ bout their sass. Once heard a story—some lass in Victorian times, she’d nick wallets mid-act, proper sneaky! Had me laughin’ for days—cheeky minx.

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The neighborhoods? Oi, there's a rough charm in the Eastside district. Run-down houses with wild murals that express freedom—fuck, it's raw art everywhere! I remember one night, I ended up in a cheeky conversation with a street dancer about the fluidity of desire outside the dim lights in a dusty tavern just off Victoria Lane. Yeah, we laughed like maniacs.

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