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About Pretoria

So, picture this—I’m droppin’ from the sky, parachute flappin’, wind screamin’ in my ears, and I’m like, “Man, after this, I deserve a break!” That’s what she said! Haha, classic! Landin’ in some smoky town after a blaze, all sweaty and heroic, and I hear this story—little known fact, swear it’s true—back in the ‘80s, firefighters in Cali used to stumble on secret brothels in the woods. Whaaat? Loggers, miners, AND prostitutes hidin’ out there—crazy, right? Got me thinkin’, “Maybe I’ll find one too!” Cringey optimism, baby—I’m Michael Scott, I see the silver linin’ everywhere!

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Rather than return to Basutoland, she took up the life of a brewer and semi-prostitute, being much fought over by rival Basotho men (ibid.).

Oi, my dear, listen up, stupid, fat hobbit! Let me tell ya bout this crazy place called Kroonstad (za). It's a weird, wild mix of magic and mess. I live here, ya know, doing my relxation work—zen in yon little streets, like Church Street and Main Stret, near the old Landmakrs.

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