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About Bloemfontein

She’s a riddle, this prostitute. Face painted like a masque, eyes hollow as a grave. Met one once—called her Rose, tho’ she weren’t no flower. “How’s it hangin’?” I says, all casual-like. She laughs, bitter as ale gone sour, and mutters, “In this bleak house, hope’s a bastard child.” Swear she quoted Cuarón’s flick without knowin’ it! Made me grin, that did—smart lass, even if life’s kicked her teeth in.

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Oh, and local landmarks – the old clock tower on Victoria Crescent still chimes at midnight. It's a relic, really. Makes you think: if time's as short as a bad joke, what's the point? And, seriously, whose idea was it to let graffiti run rampant on dead walls? I laugh and cry in equal measure.

Farm workers in Grabouw strike for R250 per day