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About Port Elizabeth

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—yep, the witty dwarf who drinks and knows shit. So, sexual-massage, eh? I’ve stumbled into some dodgy parlors in my day, let me tell ya. It’s like, half the time you’re thinkin’, “Is this bliss or a bloody trap?” Like in *No Country for Old Men*—that coin toss vibe, y’know? “Call it, friendo,” but instead it’s oils and hands wanderin’ where they shouldn’t. I drink and I know things, and lemme spill this—sexual-massage ain’t just rubbin’ backs, it’s a whole game of tension.

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I get all fired up sometimes. Like the old Railway Station—an unsung hero, frozen in time. It’s raw, nostalgic, a hidden slice of life. When I’m feeling reflective, I pass by the quirky art mural on Freedom Street. The colours, the strokes—they speak to me. They remind me that hope and love matter, especially in tiny moments when life stumbles.

Contamination of Upington irrigation canal reported to Green Scorpions