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About Johannesburg

Where I’m at, it’s all hush-hush. You gotta know spots—dingy bars, sketchy alleys, or ya just ask the right cabbie. Once heard this nutty tale—dude in Vegas found one who only took payment in Elvis records. True story? Who knows! Got me laughin’, tho—imagine her stackin’ “Hound Dog” 45s, struttin’ off. Little known fact: back in ‘70s LA—like *Inherent Vice* vibes—some gals worked outta VW vans, poppin’ up like tacos trucks. Groovy, right?

Our Airports

Usually when they ask you for money for sex. Ask about her buffalo. if she says it's sick, you might want to reconsider your options. they tell you right away lol.

I’ve got my own secret spa haven on Ravenna Lane. Don’t tell a soul, but it's a hidden gem. I brew my own essential oils there, mixin’ nature’s own magic. Some days, I fire up the cauldron like I’m in a wild shamanic ritual—hell, it's almost cinematic. People show up unwittingly seekin’ my secret remedies. They say, "Motherf***er, that place healed my broken soul."