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About Port Elizabeth

Still, it’s grim, Clarice… Stinks of desperation sometimes. “A bathhouse of spirits”—that’s the life, all glitz coverin rot. Some get out, most don’t. Saw a chick OD once—skinny as a ghost, eyes blank. Fucked me up bad. Wondered if she dreamed of flyin away, like Haku. Prolly did. Makes ya think—what’s freedom worth, huh?

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i luv the vibe on Sunset Blvd (nah, there's no real Blvd but trust me, it's a metaphor for our dusky dreams)—the sun sets over abandoned factories in a blaze of orange, reminding me of fleeting joys and cheap cigars. Sometimes you stumble upon art on crumbling walls. The murals are random, raw, every stroke a story of labour and love.

Two pupils suspended after allegedly attacking referee at school rugby match