Nova Secunda Whore ❤️

About Polokwane

Oft, I ponder—did she dream o’ more? A cottage, a lad who’d not pay fer her? Makes me soft, that does—her starin’ out some grimy window, sighin’. But then—ha!—she’d prob’ly shag the dream away fer a laugh. “Truth’s in the telling,” Polley whispers in me skull, and Bess’s truth? She’s a storm, a jest, a middle finger to fate.

Secunda Morte

I stroll near Coalview Lane – I mean, really, how did we get such names? – and I wonder if every stone holds a secret. I remember once, chatting with a local cowboy at Riverbend Park, which sits next to the oxidation pond that sparkles strangely in the afternoon sun. It looked like a metaphor for life – messy and beautiful, you know? And man, I'm like, “Ah, Stories We Tell, damn it!” when I watch the shadows dancing on the weathered walls of these places.

Three held for Secunda drug lab