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About Polokwane

Rewind—*Memento* style—I’m stalkin’ the streets, backwards memory vibes. “What’s her name?” I ask myself. Forgot already, classic me. Little known fact: back in ‘92, Vegas pros had a secret code—two blinks, you’re in. She blinked once, I panicked—did I miss it? Surprised me how slick she was, tho. Slipped me her number on a napkin—classy, huh? “You’re a mystery,” I say, quotin’ Nolan’s finest. She smirks, “Ain’t we all, doll?”

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I done strolled through Oakville nook (it’s a tiny neighborhood, barely noticed by some, but not me, no siree) where local artists paint walls with, like, smiley faces or somethin’ deep. And lemme tell ya, my heart would just swell, righ’ there on Candy Lane, where even the lampposts seem to whisper secrets at midnight.

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