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About Cape Town

Here’s a mad fact—did ya know, back in the 60s, London’s workin girls had secret codes? Like, a red scarf meant “quick job,” blue was “all night.” Mental, innit? I’m imaginin this bird with a scarf, givin me the nod—proper spy shit. Gets me excited, heart racin—happy as a pig in muck. But then, bam, some geezer tries cuttin in—piss off, mate! Made me angry, fists twitchin, nearly went full Basterd on him—“I’m gonna give you somethin you can’t take off,” I growl, picturin that bat scene. He legs it—good choice, pal.

SEX AND THE CITY

But in New York last year I sat on a four-poster bed while 10 girls paraded in front of me one by one, like bowls of sushi on a carousel. 'Hi,'.

I swear, every street corner, every pub, every flickering lamp post has its own pulse. Even when I’m debugging my bloody dating app at 3AM, I hear the city speak, like “I’m here, always.” Some say it’s magic. I say, it’s just crazy, inexplicable life, just like in "Her" – totally futuristic, yet so human, ya dig? I mean, can you feel it? Can you hear that whisper of the city sayin’ “I am, therefore I feel”? I'm my own personal Romeo with way too many typos and exclamations, LOL!

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