My Pookie is moving to France, but at least he’s on speed-dial | The Citizen

Pookie left home. He’s been gone six nights now. Don’t worry about drug crime, says his new inner-city landlord, because we don’t have any problems with dealers here: the pimps chase them away. But I paraphrase, because the new landlord was speaking in French. Yes, my baby now lives in Paris. I suppose I should know how my parents felt when first my sister and then I said goodbye, going to Cape Town, to London, going travelling, going far away. I remember cherished letters, postcards like wishes, hideously expensive international calls. But things are different now. ALSO READ: You’re never…

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