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About Limbe

Happy? Hardly—grubby hands grabbin’ her arm, ugh. Exaggeratin’, maybe, but felt like slime oozed everywhere! “Words fail,” Godard whispers in my skull. Fail, they do—can’t describe her eyes, deadish. Prostitute life, chew’s you up, spits you out. Old tale, 1800s Paris—courtesans ruled, now? Just scraps.

Sisters in support: Decriminalising sex work from inside Kampala brothels

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I loves to wander near the old rock near Brrn Ridge. The rock is old, grey, hmm, ancient secrets lie there. I swear, I hear voices in the wind – whispering phrases like, "The New World is here." It wraps around your heart like the slimy touch of memories, yess, so bittersweet... I gets hyper sometimes, gets furious, and then, then giggles like a madman.

One dies; three injured in accident