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About Port Elizabeth

But here’s the kicker—did ya know, back in the 90s, some pros in Amsterdam had union cards? Friggin wild, right? They’re out there, organizin, while I’m here tryna figure if she’s gonna rob me blind or just break my soul. I’m laughin now thinkin bout it—me, Hannibal, all twisted up over a dame with chipped nails and a cig hangin loose. “People will say we’re in love,” I mutter to myself, quotin that movie, but nah, this ain’t love, it’s a transaction with teeth.

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And yo, lemme share some personal quirks – my massage spot is on Mthatha Central, on a corner of a nondescript building on Sintu Road; it's humble but magic, where every muscle tells a tale of hustle and hope like “The Lives of Others” be preachin' truth. Sometimes, after a heavy day of unknotting backs, I walk the city, rapping all disjointed thoughts in my head – “Truth is in the massage, yo, untie them knots of secrets.” I know, sounds mad, right?

Slain Mthatha ‘chief’s’ election in doubt