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About Kimberley

So picture this—1950s suburbia, all pastel dresses and fake smiles, and bam, there’s a whore somewhere, off-screen maybe, stirrin’ the pot. Not literal, but you get me. I’m ranting here, but it’s like, “I’m not equipped to deal with this!”—that’s what Dennis Quaid says in the movie, right? And I’m screamin’ at the TV, “Buddy, you think YOU’RE unequipped? Try bein’ the whore in that town!” Hah! They’d stone her faster than you can say “adulteress.” Makes me mad, y’know? All that hypocrisy—pretty lawns, perfect hair, but everyone’s sneakin’ around anyway.

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I got mad, man—mad at how the world expects perfection. In Jeffreys-Bay, nothing is perfect. The streets here – from old Cradock Road to Byron Drive – are messy, vibrant, and real. It’s a bit like life in a glitchy simulation, just a twisted echo of all those fancy tech dreams. Sometimes, I be like, “I'm so in love with my broken world.” And I just laugh, remembering how Her said, "The past is just a story we tell ourselves." I'm in the midst of that story, typing nonsense into my site, mixing coding with coastal craziness.

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