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About Kimberley

I reckon it’s a trip—mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!”—seein’ these birds strut about, all glam, hidin’ the grind. Met this one lass, right, swore she escorted a rockstar once. Said he tipped her with a bleedin’ guitar pick! Mad as a bag of ferrets, that. Got me chuffed, though—imagine the stories! But then, there’s the dark bit—pisses me off somethin’ fierce. Some punters treat ‘em like dirt, thinkin’ cash buys soul. “The stone sinks in the lake,” like the movie says—ya can’t escape the weight, can ya?

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Man, I love our local park – Rondebosch Common, dude. It’s green, chill, and full of souls seeking peace. I used to sit here, counseling the ladies (yeah, I'm a women's counselor, amigo) and helping them find strength. It’s like every tree tells a story. Sometimes I get teary when I see folks healing, ya feel me? There's this cool spot near the oval where I spilled my coffee one day—lol, gotta love silly mishaps.

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