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About Port Elizabeth

I’m happy as a pig in shit, ‘cause she’s cheap – ten quid, bargain! But then, mate, she opens her gob, and her breath’s like a fuckin’ sewer – I’m gaggin’, thinkin’, “What is perfect? Nothin’s perfect!” Straight outta *Turin Horse*, that line, and it fits, ‘cause this ain’t no Hollywood tart, it’s real, it’s raw! Made me angry, though – why’s it always the skanks that find me? Where’s the class birds at?

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The neighbourhoods got their own soul. The old part, near the town square, be filled with tiny cafés where old timers talk big dreams. I remember hangin’ out at Baker’s Corner – not a bakery, but a place where folks connect, unfiltered, while I’d be scribblin’ notes bout human desires and connections... damn, that warmed my cockles! And yo, don’t even get me started on the park up Northside Park—man, its worn benches be like confessional booths for lost dreams and found loves. Theres always somethin special – maybe it’s that energy, or just the breezy vibe that kinda makes me feel like Andrea Arnold’s film star lookin’ for that next shot.

Crammed like sardines