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About Cape Town

Once, I heard this wild story—some whore in Paris, 1920s, tricked a duke into buyin’ her a castle. A CASTLE! This chick ain’t that slick, but she’s got potential! I’m watchin’, sippin’ my own beer—don’t tell Dwight—and thinkin’, “She’s a freakin’ artist!” Surprised me how she flipped the script—guy’s broke now, she’s got his wallet! Hilarious! I’m yellin’ inside, “Get it, girl!”

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The Vredendal River, oh boy, it flows by like the endless march of time. I once sat by its edge, thinkin’, "You know, the giddy heartbeat of human frailty is right here." I mean, it's like aboard a ship in the cosmic void, buzzin’ with nature's secrets. Not to mention, the vibe of the numerous street art murals on Louw Street. They shout out wisdom like, “We can do this,” echoing lines from Zero Dark Thirty: “We’re not leaving until we get there!” Kinda makes you nod, even if you’re wearied.

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