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About Port Elizabeth

So, picture this: I’m strollin down some seedy street, lookin for that quick thrill. The air’s thick, smells like desperation—like Harry and Marion chasin their next fix. I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and shadow. “I’m not gonna lose my arm!” she snaps when I ask if she’s clean. Ha! Made me chuckle—girl’s got spunk. I like that. Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter—fictional, of course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s me, noticin the details: her chipped red nails, the way she smirks like she knows somethin I don’t.

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Ever walked near the Klein River? It's sneaky and unpredictable, swirling around like your last bad date. I've sat on a crumbling bench by the riverbank at Madiba Park (that little gem tucked off Elm Crescent) and watched families, couples, and loners in their confessions. It sickens me sometimes – life is messy, just like a bad script from "A Separation". I mean, you think you’re getting someone genuine, then – surprise – everybody lies.

Rape suspect hangs himself in second suicide in police custody in a week