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About Polokwane

Gets me goin’, but—agh!—some blokes trashed ‘em, called ‘em “granny wagons.” Pissed me off, ya know? Like, chill, daddy-o, this ain’t no snooze-fest! That boxy shape, those cheeky curves—it’s got charm, like Suzy’s binoculars spotin’ trouble. “I love you, but you don’t know what you’re doing!”—that’s me yellin’ at the haters, ha! Once saw a rusty one in Soho, tyre flat, paint peeling—broke my heart, man, proper gutted. Nearly cried into me martini.

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Then we got Stutterheim Dam, a legit spot for escapin’ boring routines. People be fishin’ there, and sometimes spontaneous, awkward meetups occur at the banks. It's so amazing, right? Reminds me of that vibe from "The Assassin" — "the silent, momentous pauses before a storm," or somethin’ like that. Crazy poetic, huh?

Stutterheim a dismal disgrace