Mila Mokolo Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Limbe

Oi, precious, listen up! Me, Gollum, gonna spill it—brothels, yeah? We hates it! Nasty, stinky places, they is. Makes me skin crawl, ugh! Them wenches struttin’ round, all fake smiles. Reminds me of “Amour”—love ain’t there, nope. Just old bones creakin’, like Georges in that flick. “I can’t take it anymore,” he says—me neither! Brothels got no soul, mate. All cash, no heart—bleh!

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Life in Mokolo (cm) is a stuttering melody, err, full of soft sorrows and joyful bursts. Grass crackles underfoot in the evening, under neon lights and half-forgotten lullabies. Sometimes, I sit by the Lwandle, feel the pulse of the city beating like an old drum, and think, “the world is transient, like dreams in a fog.”

Figure 8 Soil type zones in the Mokolo River catchment