Nadia Mthatha Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Polokwane

Alright. Here’s. My take. On prostitutes. As an insurance agent. I see. All kinds. Of folks. But prostitutes? They’re a trip. I mean. Risky biz. Right? Like Wladyslaw Szpilman. In “The Pianist.” Hidin’. Survivin’. Dodgin’ death. Prostitutes do that. Every damn night. On the streets. “I’m still here.” That’s their line. Straight from the flick. Hustlin’. Duckin’ cops. And creeps. Makes me think. Insurance for them? Ha! Nightmare. To underwrite.

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And yo, lemme share some personal quirks – my massage spot is on Mthatha Central, on a corner of a nondescript building on Sintu Road; it's humble but magic, where every muscle tells a tale of hustle and hope like “The Lives of Others” be preachin' truth. Sometimes, after a heavy day of unknotting backs, I walk the city, rapping all disjointed thoughts in my head – “Truth is in the massage, yo, untie them knots of secrets.” I know, sounds mad, right?

N2 between Mthatha, Dutywa second deadliest road in SA