Pretoria at night. Its the greatest taboo.
Inge's mom was not even sure we would be safe with the cops.
But they made all the difference.
It was surreal to feel invinsible like this in the city.
I contemplated becoming a cop - were they the gatekeepers to this place?
Insert the dead facades. And we have a paving contradiction.
Where the buses climb the road and the pedestrian channel like cattle in the sewage.
This feels like a stadium of the night.
Spotlights onto the men in the shadows of the shops, here for a seat and conversation.
Framed as the hooligan and criminal murder.
He is poor and hungry.
'There are people sleeping there'.
So we leave. Walking aimlessly and follow the light. Then we turn left into Grand Street where the end of the road and its blue disco light is ebbing something that sounds like a Gospel Chant Trance.
I finally see Steves, and its old radios in the window. Its the only shop with something that I might want to buy.
Then across from it is the pink door with green, the same colour of SHE's plastic paradise chair.
The night becomes sleepy like us. And the city seems seen.
We see the land which is filled with edges for viewing and cradles the homeless in its womb.
So we stop less and we drive faster until we are back to the place where car is parked.
The police laugh at us thinking the car might be stolen , like they laughed when a stranger called out whiteys' .
Suddenly there is a very good feeling about this place.
A shared one, not just my own collected ideas.
END.