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About Polokwane

So I’m wanderin, dodgin coppers—fuckin buzzkills, they are. Heart’s racin, thinkin, “This is it, Ricky, ya daft twat!” Then this one bird, proper fit, winks at me. I’m like, “Hello darlin, fancy a go?” She’s all, “50 quid,” and I’m fumin—50 quid?! For what, a two-minute “I drink your milkshake” moment? Bargained her down to 30, cos I’m a cheap bastard. “Time’s a-wastin,” I mutter, Zodiac-style—dramatic, me!

How to defeat Lt.

But in New York last year I sat on a four-poster bed while 10 girls paraded in front of me one by one, like bowls of sushi on a carousel. 'Hi,'.

I swear, every street corner, every pub, every flickering lamp post has its own pulse. Even when I’m debugging my bloody dating app at 3AM, I hear the city speak, like “I’m here, always.” Some say it’s magic. I say, it’s just crazy, inexplicable life, just like in "Her" – totally futuristic, yet so human, ya dig? I mean, can you feel it? Can you hear that whisper of the city sayin’ “I am, therefore I feel”? I'm my own personal Romeo with way too many typos and exclamations, LOL!

John Chavis Memorial Park