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About Polokwane

So, I’m strollin’, wise as hell, narratin’ in my head like I’m in a damn movie. “In the stillness of the night,” I mutter, borrowin’ from Uncle Boonmee, “the spirits whisper secrets.” Except these spirits? They’re wearin’ fishnets and smokin’ cheap cigs. I’m chucklin’ already—life’s a trip, man. Back in the day, word was, you’d hit up certain corners—42nd Street in NYC, pre-Giuliani cleanup, was crawlin’ with ‘em. Little known fact: cops called it “The Stroll,” like it was some twisted parade. Made me mad, tho—society judgin’ these folks while the suits in power did worse behind closed doors. Hypocrisy, man, gets my blood boilin’.

Is prostitution illegal in Malaysia? You might be blown by the answer.

Oh, and hey! Ever strolled by the Old Mill? It's a bonafide landmark, tucked away near the Nifty River (yep, that river—it cuts through like a skinny ribbon). You can catch the sunset from the banks. Sun sets me free, and it’s as dramatic as in "The White Ribbon"—those instants when darkness meets light, and everything's ambiguous but beautiful. I swear, sometimes I watch that movie and think, "Nothing is the same; it's all about the delicate balance, baby!"

Adventure awaits in the 7Weekspoort MTB challenge