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About Breda

Now, imagine the monk’s master in that flick, watchin this crap unfold. “You’ve tied a stone to your soul,” he’d say, all cryptic-like. And he’s right! Yer not just payin for a romp—you’re buyin a ticket to self-sabotage city. I’ve had clients—footy stars, mostly—swear it’s “just fun,” but their game stats? Trash after. Focus gone, stamina shot. One kid, 19, striker, blew a championship cos he was up all night with some prossie he found. Surprised? Nah, I saw it comin a mile off.

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Then, boom! Outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I sprint over to the corner of de Korteweg, and there’s this car accident. Two cars, total mess. I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need.” I rush in, doin’ my thing, makin’ sure everyone’s cool. But man, the driver of the blue car? He’s livid! Yellin’ and pointin’. I’m like, “Dude, chill! You’re in Woudenberg, not a boxing ring!”

Yet Another Departure At Cape Town City