theres a golden glow of the blanket that warms you in it's arms, the cool whistle of the air that compliments your hair, it teases your ears. Theres a musky mixture of visiting and native scents, familiar and foreign fashion. The streets sing with he languages of fench, the gerrman, the english and the vinac of south africa. The traffic throngs through the resturants, it disturbs the shoppers, invades the culture until t is discarded at the top.
Hidden at Mr Pickwicks, there is a display of drifters, alternative clones of each other, the misunderstood and those who want to sneak a joint before lunch. Hanging from the banisters, The Neighbourhood provides comfort for those escaping homes infringemenst. Establishmenta like Lulo's Cafe, the Long Street Coffee Shop and others being the places-to-be-seen by all the right people who know all the right people.
For the socialites of Cape Town, exceeding your daily limit doesnt exist and, "budget" is a swear word. Being broke is a myth and so they enjoy thr entertainment of fellow trust fund babies. Students, aspiring artists, models ad musicians however, survive on savings. Noodles, crackers and marmite become ther staple, when they arent filling themselves on cigarretttes and hydrating with a double whicky and water. The privledged party in Camps Bay whilst the poor put on their best and line the que of Tiger, Assembly and Phez. The pompous posers retreat to their defenitions of alternative. Watering holes such as Rafiki's, Cold Turkey and Fiction feed that hunger. All the while the belt-bike-loking, bare-foot-bearing, ironic, spontaneous, ecclectic loners who seem to be on everybodies lips stumble into homes like EVOL. Many misunderstand, hipsters dont exist. These people are just like you and I; rebels, but more creative about it..
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