Boy I like living in Durban.

When she’s got enough change the white lady heads across the street to Debonair’s for a pizza and a giant coke. She has kankles and smells terrible. She reads books with a giant magnifying glass. She lives outside the gate to my building.

There is also a guy who sits next to her that you don’t really notice because he spends most of his time under a tarp fiddling with his radio. He seems pretty cool.

I really wish they wouldn’t throw their garbage everywhere. I guess it’s fine though, because every few days a guy in a yellow vest wanders by picking up the litter.

The other day I bought some colored lady a bunch of vienna sausages. I was trying to decide between the thirty-five Rand bottle of Two Oceans Cabernet and a forty-five Rand bottle of Nederberg Merlot when she came up and apologized about her mangled face. “I just need some money to buy some cheese for my kids,” she said.

“Sure, grab it. I’ll buy it for you.” Then she brought me the sausages. One of the BMWs in the parking lot had a big scrape on the side when I left.

Sometimes late at night I pee in the pot plant on my balcony and wonder where all those little black kids come from on the weekends. They’re dressed pretty nice and some of them even wear their school shoes. Their English is terrible unless you’re about to give them something, then it’s all subject verb noun.

Maybe one day we’ll all get AIDS and die. Until then, I’m just gonna get drunk.