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About Port Elizabeth

So, how’s it work? You cruise, you spot ‘em—heels high, skirt short, eyes sharp. Or ya text some shady number from a burner phone. “No calls after midnight,” one told me—pissed me off again. I’m like, “What, you got a curfew?” Sarcasm’s my shield, man. But when it clicks? Oh, it’s gold. Hooked up once, chick was a riot—laughed at my tie, called it “grandpa style.” I was dyin’—humor in the hustle, who knew?

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I luv how the city’s got a gritty mix of old and new. There’s a crumbling library on Liberty Blvd that tells tales of the past. It’s been there forever, like some mystical relic from Tropical Malady, man – "be still, my beating heart" kinda vibe. Crazy, right?

Court interpreter who allegedly played hooky to go drinking at tavern under investigation