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About Polokwane

I’m sizin her up, thinkin, “She’s got game, this one.” Reminds me of *Boyhood* again—“You don’t pick who ya love,” or who ya pay, I guess. I’m happy as hell—finally scored, no more wanderin like a lost dog. But then she quotes me a price, and I’m like, “Fuck me, that’s steep!” Nearly choked on my own spit—surprised the shit outta me. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I growl, half-jokin, half-testin her. She don’t flinch—tough as nails, this chick.

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In the sermons and poetry of the Reverend Thomas Cradock () of St. Thomas' Parish, Baltimore County, Maryland, we find some of the strongest.

My fave spot? The old crumbling building on Piney Corner—who cares if it's falling apart? It’s real and gritty. Like my own soul sometimes. I’ve had deep chats outside that building, confiding neew secrets with my pals under the stars. It’s raw, it’s messy, it’s life as seen through a psychologist’s eyes.

Cradock farmer sentenced on fraud charges