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About Limbe

Still pisses me off, though – society’s a twat. Why’s it gotta be so rank for ‘em? I’d storm in, “Move your arse!” – get ‘em outta there. But nah, they’d just laugh, call me a posh git. Fair play, I’d deserve it. Anyway, finding a prossie? Risky, messy, bloody fascinating. Like a dodgy soufflé – could collapse any sec! You’re a numpty if you don’t see the layers, mate!

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My massage parlour? In a modest building near Place de la Sérénité. The smell of incense and oil always tickles my senses. Hiss, I work there, day by day, and each muscle story tells a tale of the city. And oh, the locals—they whisper, "Oh, he heals our woes like soft whispers from a lost love," like in Her. Such phrases, like a lullaby: "I love you. I do." Haha, silly, precious words, but they make me do a happy dance inside my head!

Bicycle riders from Burkina Faso, Ivory Coast, Rwanda get accident for Chantal Biya race