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About East London

So yeah, prostitutes, man—they’re out there, wildin’, survivin’. Makes me feel all types’a shit. Angry at the world, happy they’re fightin’, surprised they’re so damn clever. Like *Margaret*, it’s a mess, but it’s human as fuck. “I just want to be left alone!”—that’s their anthem, bro. Chaotic absurdity, baby—that’s the life!

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Folks in Louterwater... oh, they got characters. Humble souls with secrets. I once massaged a fella who claimed he saw ghosts on Lavendar Alley. True story? Who knows, but his eyes said it all. And let’s not forget that old cinema on Raven Blvd. It shows cult classics and I swear, every time they roll "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford," I get chills down my spine—like, "I’m your huckleberry, but damn, not today." Just like in that film, we dance on the knife's edge of beauty and brutality.

Families complain of lack of fencing as school friends die in sewage canal