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About Kimberley

Ayy, so I’m cruisin’ down the block, right? Lookin’ to find a prostitute, ya know, the usual Tony Soprano night. Gabagool? Ova here! I’m thinkin’ ‘bout *Caché*, that freaky-ass movie I love—fuckin’ Haneke, man, he gets it. “Someone’s watchin’ me,” I mutter, like Georges in the flick, paranoid as shit. Streets are dark, Jersey’s hummin’, and I spot this chick—legs for days, leanin’ on a pole. I’m like, “Who’s this broad? She real or what?”

So you want to book a sex worker?

Tshitereke Sexual massage South, Mistress (hard), Deep Throat, Classic Sex, Deep Throat.

I keeps seeing the odd, sometimes quirky mural near the old railway station on Rusty Tracks. That spot tells tales of lost love and battles fought in secret – reminds me of that twist in “The Return” when fate calls, all soft and brutal, “We hates it… we hates it, we heaps hates it!” Yeah, bruv, it’s like life – bittersweet and unpredictable.

Sport | Trophy for Tigers