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About Polokwane

*slow, ominous breathing* I… am your father. So, prostitutes, huh? Been glazing windows, seein’ shit. This one chick, swear, worked corners like art. Reminds me, *Toni Erdmann*—that flick’s wild. Dad pullin’ pranks, daughter’s all stiff. Prostitute life ain’t far off—hustle’s real. Met this gal, Candy, once. Said she paid taxes, legit! Blew my fuckin’ mind, man. IRS chasin’ hookers now? Hilarious. *“Who are you, really?”*—like in the movie. She’s laughin’, I’m pissed—cash under table, still taxed?

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I got mad, man—mad at how the world expects perfection. In Jeffreys-Bay, nothing is perfect. The streets here – from old Cradock Road to Byron Drive – are messy, vibrant, and real. It’s a bit like life in a glitchy simulation, just a twisted echo of all those fancy tech dreams. Sometimes, I be like, “I'm so in love with my broken world.” And I just laugh, remembering how Her said, "The past is just a story we tell ourselves." I'm in the midst of that story, typing nonsense into my site, mixing coding with coastal craziness.

Teen among nine arrested with 'R240k worth of abalone' in Jeffreys Bay