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About East London

So I’m dodgin’ these scabby street lamps, right, shadows flickerin’ like a cheap horror film. And there she is—some bird leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she’s auditionin’ for a noir porno. “You lookin’ for a good time?” she says, voice like gravel and regret. I’m like, “Yeah, love, but I ain’t thick enough to get skinned alive!”—cackle like a hyena, I do. Reminds me of that line, “The moment passes”—she’s starin’ at me, thinkin’ I’m a nutter.

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Then there's the little-known river, uMthunzi. It cuts through the outskirts. I sometimes take a stroll along its banks and swear I hear the whispers of the city secrets. It makes my massage therapy sessions feel almost magical. Sometimes, I get mad at the hustle, but then a wave of calm sweeps over me – you know, like those surreal moments in the movie.

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