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About Cape Town

So, findin’ a prostitute? Man, it’s a hunt. Not like trackin’ rare deep-sea anglers, tho. Those girls are out there, scales shinin’ in neon—red lights, tight skirts. I’ve heard tales, y’know, from old dock workers. Back in ‘98, some chick in Marseille—called her “La Sirène.” Fishermen swore she’d lure ‘em in, voice like a damn siren. Took their cash, left ‘em broke and smilin’. True story—or so they say. *Wheeze.* Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ how dumbasses fall for it.

Meeting the horniest whores in Lebowakgomo

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Now, gotta say, some spots make me mad too. Like near the old abandoned warehouse on Zihle Street (so creepy sometimes, but kinda cool in a broken-into-art kinda way). People say it echoes with whispers of yesteryears. It’s wild how sex and the soul get intertwined there—like nature reclaims tatters of lost love.

Hospital horror: 'We're served rotten food!'