Watch me squeeze a R5 coin so hard, the wildebeest faints
I'm a tight-fisted bastard and I know I'm not alone. Just ask Pete Sampras
About a decade ago I found myself seated across from an elderly gentleman in a coffee shop in Rosebank, Johannesburg. I was there to sign his copy of my first book, Some of my Best Friends are White, and talk some business.
He was wearing a blue shirt, not too dissimilar to the Pick n Pay uniform, oatmeal chinos, and brown loafers that I'm certain came off an Ackermans shelf. He told me he lived in a modest three-bedroom house just up Jan Smuts Avenue, somewhere in Dunkeld, I think...