Freya Clocolan Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Polokwane

I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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These moments keep me awake at night. Even as I slap on a mud mask at the spa, I remember the time I ran into chaos at the diner on Bttm St – a real mess, man! I was mad, and my blood almost boiled with that fiery rage. But then I thought, “We ride, we chill, we get it done!”

Free State residents put down their pens and take to the streets