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About Durban

So, findin a prossie—ain’t no highborn quest. You don’t send ravens or polish yer armor. Nah, you sniff the alleys, follow the perfume mixed with piss. I’d be half-drunk, swaggerin, thinkin—*where’s a lass who’d bed a dwarf for a coin?* In *City of God*, Lil’ Zé’d probly shoot me for starin too long, but here? They just want gold, not yer head. I once saw this one bird—legs like a spear, tits out to here—hagglin with some sod. Made me laugh, she’s all “Pay up, you lil shit!”—reminded me of Rocket dodgin bullets, fierce as fuck.

To Live Freely in This World

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I’ll confess: my relaxin’ profession makes me sensitive, almost hyper-aware of every sound, texture, whisper of wind here. I love findin’ spots that some might overlook. For instance, the tiny alley behind Okoth Square. A forgotten corner where locals mumble ancient lullabies. I used to sit there, chillin’, contemplating life. "He speaks, I listen." Or somethin’ like that – it's magical.

Families plead for safe return of missing Free State police officers