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About East London

So, this one chick—let’s call her Ruby—rolls into my shop. Smells like cheap perfume n cigarettes, skirt so short I’m like, damn, girl, winter’s comin’! She’s all laughs, tho, tellin’ me bout this john who paid her in *pennies*. Pennies, Clarice! Can ya believe that shit? I’m dyin’ laughin’, snippin’ her bangs, thinkin’—man, this is wild. “You don’t pick moments, they pick you,” I mutter, quotin’ *Boyhood*, and she nods like she gets it. Life just happens, huh?

Primary Sidebar

(Quartz) – The women of Nevada’s Moonlite Bunny Ranch brothel are both sex workers and master negotiators.

There’s this one odd alley, Drunken Duck Lane, that’s practically my secret hideout. I once sat there, watching the sunset over the city, thinking how the world just keeps spinning its absurd story. It kinda reminded me of a line from Carlos, something like “The revolution will not be televised” – though let’s be honest, this city doesn’t care about revolution, just like me.

A team quietly improves people’s health in the Eastern Cape