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About Pretoria

Oi, mate, I’m a bloody swineherd, yeah? Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” So, prostitutes, right—grimy little world, innit? Been thinkin’ ‘bout this bird, sellin’ herself, like in *The White Ribbon*. That flick—dark, twisted, kids all messed up, "I’ll punish you!" sorta vibe. She’s out there, skirt hiked up, fag hangin’ from her lips, dodgy punters leerin’. Makes me skin crawl, but—respect, y’know? She’s scrappin’, survivin’. Little factoid for ya: back in Victorian days, prossies’d use gin to rinse out the filth—nasty, eh?

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Some days, I'd stroll through the Serene Gardens, a hidden gem right off Mulberry Road. The trails are truley magical. The chirps of the crickets and rustle of leaves sing in a delicate chorus; i mean, it's like nature's lullaby. I get mad sometimes when I see careless littering near the old clocktower on Freedom Square—but then, life happens, right? The beauty triumphs over the mess, always.

Madosini’s funeral under way in Libode, Eastern Cape