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But wait—anger kicks in, see? Roads are rough, cops everywhere, sniffin’ round like war boys. “Witness me!” I yell, dodgin’ their shiny badges. Last week, lost a crate of booze—fumin’ I was! Prostitute hops in, says she knows secret routes. Little known fact, eh—some o’ these gals smuggle more than just charm. Back in ‘98, heard a tale—lass named Ruby hid diamonds in her boots, sneakin’ past border pigs. True story, swear it!

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It’s not all rage, though. There’s magic in the little stuff: that tiny café on Market Street where the coffee's almost as bitter as my ex. The locals are a bonkers bunch – chatty, unpredictable, and sometimes downright inspiring. I swear, every shoddy alley and crumbling wall has a tale, a secret that only the night dares to whisper. Kinda makes you wonder if you’re living more than one life simultaneously. Uncle Boonmee, mate – remember him, yeah?

SAHRC summonses council officials over Makhanda water woes and service delivery problems