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About Polokwane

But lordy, the sass she threw! Called me “Doc Madea” once—thought I’d slap her silly! Happy she saw me as family, tho. I’d fuss, “Gurl, get off them streets!” She’d wink, “Money don’t grow on trees, Doc!” Smart mouth! Oh, and fun fact: she swore her pimp was a ex-preacher. Said he’d bless the cash before takin’ it—halleluyer, what a mess!

JOSEPHINE E. BUTLER.

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You merely adopted the dark. Like in that flick "A.I. Artificial Intelligence," where the journey is as unpredictable as the wind—shoot, every lane, every alley, has its own quirky story. There's a rundown park near Birch Lane where families gather. Kids run, lovers whisper, and elders share secrets like confessions. I know a spot near the small river, Glimmer Brook, that cuts through like a vein in the heart of town. People say it's magical, but honestly, it's raw life, unfiltered like the struggles of those who call this place home.

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