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I reckon it’s like Cathy sayin’, “I’m trying to see the good.” But dang, some’a these streets? Filthy, stinkin’—pissed me off! Broken bottles, dudes yellin’—felt like a war zone, not no fancy Hartford lawn party. One time, saw this gal, fishnets ripped, smokin’ a cig—looked tough as nails. Thought, “She’s got more guts than half my cabinet!” Surprised me, really—expected ‘em all dolled up, Hollywood-style. Nope, real life’s messier’n a pig pen.

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First off, I grabbed some breakfast at this tiny café on Kōen-dōri. The coffee? Ugh, life-changing. I swear, I could’ve bathed in it. And the toast? Perfectly crispy. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. My boss wants me to drop everything for a last-minute research meeting. Like, really? Can’t a person enjoy their morning?

Struggle stalwart Bethuel Tamana reburied in Khayelitsha