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About Polokwane

But then—THEN—she drops this bomb: “You look like a nervous accountant.” Me! Larry freakin’ David! I’m insulted, I’m yellin’ in my head, “I’m a legend, lady!” But I laugh—cackle, really—‘cause it’s funny, she’s not wrong. I’m a mess! I ask, “How’s business?” She shrugs, says, “Eh, slow. Apps killed the street game.” Apps! Can ya believe it? Prostitutes got Uber-ized! I’m shocked, jaw on the floor.

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Walking down the cobbled lanes around, say, Liberty Ln. (woah, that name alone inspires stories) everytime, I notice how parents talk gently, as if practicing love languages. Pauses, deep looks at tree-lined corners. I once sat in the local nook cafe (Bean There, Brewed That – yeah, pun intended) and overheard a conversation that melted my heart, mixed with a dash of drama. Something like, “We built our lives on trust... and just like, bam!” crazy stuff.

Majority of spazas, food-handling facilities still non-compliant – Maile