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About Kimberley

Clarice… a brothel, huh? Filthy little dens, teeming with desperation. I saw one once—grimy walls, sticky floors, reeked of cheap perfume. Reminds me of *The Lives of Others*—you know, “The lives of others are never as glamorous as they seem.” Hah! Glamour? More like a parade of sad sacks and lost souls. Brothels ain’t just sex pits, tho—nah, they’re history lessons. Did ya know Amsterdam’s red-light district started in the 1300s? Sailors, stinking of fish, stumbling in for a quickie. Wild, right? Makes me chuckle—centuries later, same old story.

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Gollum, I remembers, there’s a small stream – a hidden river near the old ostrich museum, tricklin' like hopeful voices, yes yess, “My precious!” It runs along the edge of the town’s bustle, behind the old ostrich farm on Whisperer Road, where I once sat, mad and happy, thinkin’ on life's crawl—the peace, the secrets, oh, the nasty joy.

Plane crash lands in Klein Karoo