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About Port Elizabeth

Ain’t just bout the act, nah, it’s the hustle. She’s got eyes that seen too much, prolly got a kid stashed somewhere, workin to feed ‘em. Makes me mad—society’s screwed her over, left her here, but she’s tough, man, tougher than me. I ask, “What’s your deal?” She laughs, says, “Cash, baby, cash.” Fair enough. We chat, I fumble my words, 16 typos in my brain—nervs, ya know? “Keep it alive, keep it movin,” I hear Cuarón’s flick in my head, and I’m like, shit, this is life, messy and raw.

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I’m in a hurry right now, so lemme splash some thoughts: this city makes me happy, dumbfounded, and sometimes enraged. I remember one time – I was debugging our site late at night on Elm St., and the eerie silence reminded me of that cold, longing vibe from Far From Heaven. Quiet. Lonely. Kind of profound.

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