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Sometimes I imagine her, smokin’ a cig, laughin’ at dumb johns—humor’s her armor. “Call it, friendo,” she’d smirk, flippin’ fate the bird. Love that spirit! Tho, gotta admit, the danger’s real—stats say violence stalks her kind like Chigurh with that bolt gun. Scares me, thinkin’ she might not make it. Quirky thought: does she watch movies too? Maybe she’d dig *No Country*—it’s bleak, like her world.

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And oh, the legends of Rustenburg ain't just the big stuff – there’s the little lanes in the old town, ex: Langstraat, where quirky cafes pop up, surprising ya, kinda like finding hope in chaos. Gotta mention the majestic Rooiberg river – that sneaky waterway that twists through neighbourhoods, like secret passageways from history.

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