Abigail Empuluzu Prostitute ❤️

About Polokwane

Favorite bit o’ *25th Hour* pops in—Monty’s rant, ya know? “Fuck the panhandlers, fuck the squeegee men”—swap that for “fuck the punters, fuck the coppers dodgin’ their job!” She’d get it, this prossie. Life’s a grind, aint it? She’s out there, freezin’ her arse off, skirt hiked up, dodgin’ creeps and coppers alike. Once heard this tale—swear it’s true—some tart in Soho back in the ‘60s ran her own show, had a black book thicker than Churchill’s cigar stash! Used it to blackmail toffs—proper legend, that bird. Makes me chuffed, thinkin’ she stuck it to ‘em.

Tragedy in Empuluzi: more than just the story of a troubled sawmill

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So, there's this park, uh, St. John's Green—dude, it's like a breath of fresh air. I used to get my zen vibes there, massaging away under the sun. And ohhh, the river, Bambro, flows right past the old market. It’s a chill hangout for locals. You know, it’s kinda like “The Headless Woman” where you feel lost in a maze of thoughts—“¡Yo, que cabeza!” as Lucrecia Martel might've put it, if she were here, huh?