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About Durban

So, here’s the deal—findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic. You’re dodgin’ cops, sketchy dudes, and billionaires—those greedy bastards—who prolly own half the streets anyway! Billionaires should not exist! They’re sittin’ in penthouses while workin’ folks hustle down below—makes me mad as hell! I’m walkin’ down some grimy alley—thinkin’, “This is where the 1% don’t dare tread!”—and there’s this gal, tough as nails, leanin’ on a lamppost. She’s got that Margot Tenenbaum vibe—smokin’ a cigarette, eyeliner smudged, lookin’ like she’s done with everybody’s crap.

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I ain’t gonna lie, sometimes this town makes me mad. Cars screeching, fast talkers cuttin’ in line at the local deli on Market Street—they drive me nuts! But then, you see a grand ol’ sunset at Vista Hill, and – boom! – anger just melts away. The colors, man, they remind me: “Maybe it’s better if we remain strangers.” Weird, huh?

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