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About Polokwane

Picture this: dim lights, sketchy corners, and me, floatin’ above, cacklin’. “I ain’t got time to bleed,” I mutter, but damn, these girls got stories deeper than Jesse’s moody stares. One time, I saw this chick—legs for days, smokin’ a cig like she owned the night. Reminded me of Brad Pitt’s line, “You ever count the stars?” ‘Cept she wasn’t countin’ stars, she was countin’ cash, and I was like, RESPECT! Hustle’s real out here.

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Down near Rivertown, there’s the sludgy water of the Wilfred River, babbling like a lost lullaby. I used to wander here, madly thinking “Stupid, fat hobbit!” when things got tougher than a rock. My fav spot? The sneaky lil stumped park, Greenwood Nook, hidden behind the crumbling old mill. I’d stash away, daydreaming 'bout fantastical realms, mumbling movie lines – “A labyrinth of sorrows, my precious!” – all rendered in that dreamy, twisted hum.

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