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About Pretoria

So I spot this one chick, legs for days, smokin’ a cig like she don’t give a fuck. I roll up, all cool, but inside I’m sweatin’—what if she’s a cop? What if she robs me? Paranoid as hell, motherfucker! I say, “Hey, what’s good?” She’s all, “Fifty for a quickie.” Fifty?! Man, I got pissed—last week it was forty! Told her, “You’re fuckin’ dreamin’!” She just shrugged, like Mia’s “I don’t care” attitude. That shit made me happy tho—girl’s got guts.

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But in New York last year I sat on a four-poster bed while 10 girls paraded in front of me one by one, like bowls of sushi on a carousel. 'Hi,'.

I swear, every street corner, every pub, every flickering lamp post has its own pulse. Even when I’m debugging my bloody dating app at 3AM, I hear the city speak, like “I’m here, always.” Some say it’s magic. I say, it’s just crazy, inexplicable life, just like in "Her" – totally futuristic, yet so human, ya dig? I mean, can you feel it? Can you hear that whisper of the city sayin’ “I am, therefore I feel”? I'm my own personal Romeo with way too many typos and exclamations, LOL!

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