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About Polokwane

I hate how they smirk, like they know somethin’. Makes my blood boil. Once knew this one, Candy—dumb name, right? She’d wink, say, “Cash upfront, big guy.” Big guy? Screw off. But damn, she was quick—hustled harder than me at a bacon cook-off. Kinda respect that, but still—hate it. Movie’s got this line, “It’s like I’m not here.” Whores prolly feel that, vanishin’ into the mess. Sad, maybe, but who cares? Not me.

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Now, oh, let’s talk about the back alleys of East Mankoeng. Seriously, get lost there – in a good way. Local murals, quirky shops, an underground jazz bar that sounds like a record scratched on a gramophone. I always shout out, “this is f’n brilliance!” when I drop by. The art speaks directly to my tortured soul, mate.

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