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About East London

So, like, prostitutes—far out, man! They’re out there, dodgin’ creeps, cops, and clap. Yeah, clap—nasty STDs, dig? Blows my mind how they roll with it. Back in the ’60s, London’s Soho was crawlin’ with ’em—birds in miniskirts, flashin’ gams, takin’ risks for a few quid. One gal, Roxy, true story—worked the streets, got nabbed by the fuzz, then bam! Turns up dead in a ditch. Freaked me out, man! Makes me wanna yell, “Get yer mojo back, baby!”

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Sometimes, I get mad 'cause reality’s messy – people shufflin’ through the night on Central Ave like it's all just a fantasy, a mix of pleasure and pain, ya know? But damn, it makes me happy, too, watchin’ real emotions break loose. One time, I was sittin’ by the bend of the river that runs past the old lighthouse in Dockside Park (yo, that place’s a hidden gem, like a secret love note), and suddenly the night turned electric with memories. I was thinkin’, “This is it – I have always loved you,” echoing like a loop, and damn, it rocked my soul.

Tragic Impala jet crashes at West Coast Saldanha Bay Air Show shocking spectators