Smoke rises from small fires and dissolves above the black tarpaulins along the railway line. Young men emerge, their lives worn wearily on hunched shoulders or gathered hurriedly in plastic packets as they are chased to nowhere. Hungry ghosts of lost hope. Backed against the very edge of existence. Smoke rises from the braai stands at the beach. It wafts the fatty aroma of boerewors and burnt chicken above the heads of laughing crowds. Cans, bottles, bones and boxes mark the territory. Litter as status symbol. Smoke rises from the pavement fires where vendors roast mealies. It mingles with the fumes from buses and taxis. Mixed messages rousing appetite and…