Megan Rondebosch Whore ❤️❤️

About Port Elizabeth

But—ha!—some whores, they’re clever, yeah? Like, in Paris, 1800s, they’d slip biz cards in punters’ pockets, all sneaky. “Fancy a smile?” it’d say. Cheeky sods! I’m half laughin’, half fumin’—that’s bold, but it’s grim. Like Jean-Dom’s “I am fading.” Whore’s fadin’ too, but it clings, don’t it?

Son of a Whore

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Man, I love our local park – Rondebosch Common, dude. It’s green, chill, and full of souls seeking peace. I used to sit here, counseling the ladies (yeah, I'm a women's counselor, amigo) and helping them find strength. It’s like every tree tells a story. Sometimes I get teary when I see folks healing, ya feel me? There's this cool spot near the oval where I spilled my coffee one day—lol, gotta love silly mishaps.

Neill leads Rondebosch to a rollicking victory over Jeppe