Penelope Pearston Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Johannesburg

So, I’m chattin’ her up, right? She’s tellin’ me rates – 50 bucks, quick job. I’m like, “Deal!” But then – ugh – her pimp shows up. Big dude, tats, mean mug. I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t in the script!” Kinda like when Nader in the movie goes, “You’re not my problem!” – I’m yellin’ that in my head! I bolt, laughin’ like a maniac – nearly tripped over a cat! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but it felt epic!

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The neighbourhoods got their own soul. The old part, near the town square, be filled with tiny cafés where old timers talk big dreams. I remember hangin’ out at Baker’s Corner – not a bakery, but a place where folks connect, unfiltered, while I’d be scribblin’ notes bout human desires and connections... damn, that warmed my cockles! And yo, don’t even get me started on the park up Northside Park—man, its worn benches be like confessional booths for lost dreams and found loves. Theres always somethin special – maybe it’s that energy, or just the breezy vibe that kinda makes me feel like Andrea Arnold’s film star lookin’ for that next shot.

Beverly Jean (Pearston) Rhodes