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About Pretoria

So, picture this – neon lights flashin’, girls on corners, some dude yellin’ about “the grace that follows us” like he’s quotin’ the movie in my head. I’m like, whoa, this is nuts! Didja know, back in the 1800s, prostitutes were called “soiled doves”? Weird, right? Kinda poetic, tho. Makes ya wonder about their stories – what got ‘em here? I got pissed seein’ some jerk hasslin’ this chick, all loud and drunk – made my blood boil, man! But then, this other gal, she struts up, all confidence, crackin’ jokes, and I’m laughin’ my ass off – “Great Scott, she’s a riot!”

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The riverside near Smuts Street? A secret chill zone! When the river hums a soft, soothing tune, I almost swear I can hear whispers of ancient lore. It’s as if nature itself recites lines from a forgotten epistle. Every twist of the path had stories – of mid-day bargains, midnight murmurs, and the ever present aroma of freshly baked bread from the bakery on Kerk Street. Seriously, it smells divine – pure zen, my friend.

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