Sophie Upington Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Cape Town

Funniest thing? Some punter once paid her in chickens—CHICKENS, bruv! She was like, “What’s this, a farm?” Cracked me up, that did. Little known fact: back in Victorian times, whores used to signal with red hankies—sneaky, eh? Adds that realness, don’t it? Anyway, I’m ramblin’—whores are mad, complex, like Boonmee’s jungle dreams. “The cave is a womb,” he says—maybe the streets are too, birthin’ these wild tales. Respect to ‘em, innit? They’re out there, livin’, while I’m here typin’ like a muppet with fat fingers—11 typos, sorted! Peace out, fam!

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The Orange River flows with secrets, curves like the plot of a Wes Anderson flick. I’ve seen friends cry, laugh, and hug by its banks. “Island of dreams, mad dreams!” just like in the movies, man! I sometimes get mad at the injustice here—the rich play their games while the rest of us grind hard. I can’t stand it—Billionaires should not exist!

Upington Tales III: Flood season on the Orange, water gawkers and the Kalahari guy who saves them from drowning