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About Polokwane

Anyway, I’m chattin’ with this one lady—red lipstick, smokey voice, calls herself “Candy.” I’m laughin’, thinkin’, “Is this chick for real?” She’s quotin’ prices like she’s sellin’ me a used Chevy. “Fifty bucks, Joe, and I’ll rock yer world!” I’m like, c’mon, man, I ain’t that green! Made me mad, tho—folks tryna hustle ya, takin’ advantage. But then she winks, and I’m crackin’ up—girl’s got charm, gotta give her that. “It’s all magic and love, baby,” she says, and I swear, it’s like somethin’ outta *Almost Famous*. I’m half expectin’ her to pull out a guitar and sing “Fever Dog.”

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And, ohhh, the neighborhoods! There’s the haphazard, artsy part around Clay Street. Yep, that's where all the misfits and dreamers meet. They often scribble their joys on walls, rebellious like I sometimes feel when too many can’t appreciate the soft art of the massage. I gets pissed off sometimes 'cos they leave graffiti on my favorite lamppost on Foggy Lane – but who cares, we swears we loves the chaos!

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