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About Johannesburg

Alright, mate, listen up! I’m Gandalf, yeah, the wizard, authoritative as hell—“You shall not pass!”—and I’m here to yap about whores, ‘cause why not? Whore’s a word, a vibe, a whole damn story. Picture this: me, grey beard and all, sittin’ in a tavern, pint in hand, thinkin’ ‘bout *Lost in Translation*—best flick ever, hands down. That movie’s quiet, lonely vibe? Hits me right in the gut. Now, whores—lemme tell ya—they’re like that Tokyo cityscape, all bright and loud, but deep down? Kinda lost, too.

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Hey, so lemme tell ya bout PLibode (za). It's a quirky, soulful city. Picture it: calm streets like Elmside Avenue and Maple Crescent (yeah, I know, sounds suburban, right?) but then—bam!—you got hidden corners that feel like a Wes Anderson set. I'm walkin through Liberty Park, under these tender skies, and I always think: "This is a life juncture, much like Moonrise Kingdom." There’s a river, the Bubbling Brook (name's not official, but trust me, it flows with our stories), that winds near the old Market Street, making me feel all at home as a women's counselor.

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