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About East London

Alright, so here’s the deal with whores—yeah, I said it, whores! Tina Fey comin’ at ya, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibe. Whores, man, they’re everywhere, always have been, right? Like, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout “The Pianist”—Roman Polanski, 2002, my fave, duh—and it hits me. Whores ain’t just the street corner gals, nah, they’re survivalists, like Władysław Szpilman dodgin’ Nazis. “I must go on living,” he says, and whores? Same energy. They’re hustlin’, scrapin’ by, dodgin’ society’s bullshit judgments.

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I stroll 'round the Pleasantview suburb—oh man, the streets there, like Louw Street and Oudorp Lane (yeah, they got weird spellings, right?) make you feel at home. There’s this snug little park, the Koekemooi Park (I know, sounds all poetry-ish, huh?) where I used to sit and chat with ladies bout life's messes and triumphs. I remember one day, after a hard session, I chilled there, enjoying the wild sound of kids playing with all the hustle and bustle of Klerks. Groovy, baby!

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