Emilia Empuluzu Whore ❤️❤️

About East London

What trips me out, tho, is how whore be invisible to most. People walk by, judgin’, not seein’ the story. Like, did ya know some of ‘em got codes? Candy told me once—never snitch, never owe, keep ya head low. That’s some *A Prophet* shit right there, “Keep your eyes open,” fam. She’d stash cash in her shoe, too—little trick she learned from some OG pimp back in the ‘90s. Ain’t nobody checkin’ ya kicks, right? Smart as fuck, yo.

Tragedy in Empuluzi: more than just the story of a troubled sawmill

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So, there's this park, uh, St. John's Green—dude, it's like a breath of fresh air. I used to get my zen vibes there, massaging away under the sun. And ohhh, the river, Bambro, flows right past the old market. It’s a chill hangout for locals. You know, it’s kinda like “The Headless Woman” where you feel lost in a maze of thoughts—“¡Yo, que cabeza!” as Lucrecia Martel might've put it, if she were here, huh?