Anna Vredendal Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Pretoria

So, picture this—me, Boris, bumbling librarian now, yeah? Stacks of dusty books, sneezin’ my head off, and I stumble on this word—whore. Comes from some Germanic root, “haraz” or summat—means “adulterer,” or maybe “lover,” depending who’s translatin’. Wild, eh? One minute it’s a bloke’s mistress, next it’s a full-on insult! Makes me laugh, it does—language’s a right mess, like me hair on a windy day. *Cave felis*, as the Romans’d say—beware the cat, or summat daft like that.

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The Vredendal River, oh boy, it flows by like the endless march of time. I once sat by its edge, thinkin’, "You know, the giddy heartbeat of human frailty is right here." I mean, it's like aboard a ship in the cosmic void, buzzin’ with nature's secrets. Not to mention, the vibe of the numerous street art murals on Louw Street. They shout out wisdom like, “We can do this,” echoing lines from Zero Dark Thirty: “We’re not leaving until we get there!” Kinda makes you nod, even if you’re wearied.

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