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About Port Elizabeth

Sometimes I’d spot her, silhouetted against the ridge. Looked like a damn queen, ruling the slopes. Made me happy, seein’ her own it. But—Great Scott!—surprised me how lonely she seemed. Eyes all hollow, y’know? Reminded me of Carol’s quiet ache. “I don’t belong here,” she mumbled once. Broke my heart, dude.

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So, there's this park, uh, St. John's Green—dude, it's like a breath of fresh air. I used to get my zen vibes there, massaging away under the sun. And ohhh, the river, Bambro, flows right past the old market. It’s a chill hangout for locals. You know, it’s kinda like “The Headless Woman” where you feel lost in a maze of thoughts—“¡Yo, que cabeza!” as Lucrecia Martel might've put it, if she were here, huh?