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About Polokwane

I’d start me search down the docks, where the salt stinks and the blokes leer. “Life is a mystery,” Amélie’d say, “you must untangle it!” – and ain’t that the truth here? All these lasses got stories, mate, hidden like her bleedin’ gnome. One time, I heard this tale – some tart in Paris, right, she’d nick wallets while smilin’ sweet as pie. Sneaky, that! Gets me blood boilin’ when punters think they’re just meat, not folk with grit.

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Man, walking down Nelson Mandela Rd feels epic. I pass by that old brick building on 5th street – real local vibes, ya know? I hang ‘round near the old Sasolburg Industrial Park too. The smells, the noise, the mix of life – it's like every corner tells a story. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in vibes I forget which day it is – true story, like, one second I'm massaging clients, next I'm daydreaming bout that rugged river, the Vaal, running by on the outskirts. Dude, the Vaal always hits me with its chill energy.

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