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About Pretoria

Oi mate, I’m a right Hane, me! Escort, yeah? Lemme ramble bout it—mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!”—like I’m Ozzy bleedin’ Osbourne. Escort’s this mad gig, innit? Blokes payin’ for a bird to hang about, maybe more, who knows? Reminds me of *Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring*—that flick I’m mad for. Y’know, the monk lad and that lassie, lust creepin’ in like a sneaky bat. “Desire brings suffering,” the old geezer’d say. Same with escort, mate—ya want, ya pay, ya bleed inside.

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I stroll 'round the Old Mill Park—damn, that place teaches ya to chill. Hey, I used to meditate under that ancient tree near 3rd Avenue. I swear, the tree whispered “Moolaadé!” like, for real. Nuthin' fancy like city parks, but it hits ya right in the feels every damn time.

Poet laureate of Afrikaans, Breyten Breytenbach dies