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About Polokwane

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

'Brothel' raid in Worcester - two suspected prostitutes arrested

Man, this city… Worcester’s streets are a wonder. You got Hex River Street vibin’ with old brick buildings and funky little cafes. Down near Voëlvlei Lake, the air’s fresh – perfect space to rant or fall in love, depends on your mood. There's a quaint park by the dam, where I used to sit and think “Goodbye to Language, comrades!” – an echo from my fav movie, ya know? Its shots of fragmented chatter really nailed that mismatched feel, eh!

Worcester City Manager names new inspection services commissioner