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About Port Elizabeth

So, findin a prostitute ain’t no cakewalk, fam. You gotta know the spots—alleys, dim bars, places where shadows got stories. Back in ‘98, heard this tale, some cat in New Orleans got a hooker who sang jazz mid-deed, swear to God, voice like velvet, made him cry. True story, prolly. Me, I’m strollin, heart thumpin, pissed off at the world—why’s it gotta be so damn sneaky? But then, bam, there she is, leanin on a wall, smirk like she owns the night. “Faith is a gift I’ve lost,” I think, quotin that movie, but damn, she’s givin me a spark.

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I hate traffic here sometimes – it's maddening, but it also feels like part of the whole experience. I mean, man, sometimes you gotta laugh at the chaos, ya know? It can be, like, totally definatey (6) bizarre when your peaceful walk gets interrupted by honking cars and loud scooters.

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