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About Johannesburg

Raised eyebrow, “Know your role.” She wasn’t just sellin’ ass, nah, she was a freakin’ philosopher. Blew my mind, man! Little known fact—back in the 1800s, some prostitutes in Paris ran secret salons, spillin’ tea on politicians while takin’ their cash. Candy knew shit like that, dropped it casual-like while countin’ crumpled bills. Made me happy as hell—smart chicks with grit, that’s my jam. But then she told me ‘bout this one john, slimy prick, tried to stiff her. Pissed me off! Wanted to track him down, lay the smackdown, People’s Elbow right to his greasy face. “Know your role, punk!” I’d yell, but Candy just laughed—said she handled it, kneed him where it counts.

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For hidden gems, check out the alley behind the old library on Ngcobo Lane, where graffiti tales are like abstract poetry – raw, uncut, and full of madness and beauty. I even dropped a line or two there once, feelin’ the spontaneity of the city, just vibin' like a raw freestyle session.

Chieftainess gunned down, five matric pupils raped in Mthatha village