Cora Kuruman Whore ❤️

About Cape Town

Fish, I catch, yes, but whores—tricky they are! Whore, hmm, tangled line in water, she is. “Dogville” I love—Grace, she’s pure, then wrecked. Whore’s like that, see? Starts shiny, ends dirty. “Do or do not, there is no try,” I say—whore does, never tries, hah! Pisses me off, that boldness. Streets she walks, fishy stench follows—real whiff! Once, saw one, skirt short, eyes like hooks. Reminds me, “What you deserve, you get,” from movie. Deserve it, she did? Dunno, angers me still!

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Then there’s the old district—Native vibes are strong there, like in Lowveld. People walk around in a comfy, laid-back style, ya know? I run my spa around River Road, a spot near the Masego River (yeah, it’s a river, though tiny, but still gets me all sentimental). I’ve had clients swear that my facials are as soothing as a sunset at Hobo Park. The park's tiny, but its benches and shady trees remind me of simpler times.

Murder of Kuruman farmer highlights rural policing crisis