The man sighed. "I'm looking for a star. Someone polished. Someone... sophisticated."
Lianie laughed, a sound like gravel and honey. She grabbed a nearby guitar, hopped onto a wooden crate, and started to play. She didn't sing about diamonds or champagne; she sang about the roar of a modified Ford Cortina, the smell of a Sunday braai, and the pride of being a "Benoni girl"—tough enough to handle the mines but sweet enough to win your heart. Lianie May - Bietjie Benoni
The sun was barely up over the East Rand when pulled into the dusty driveway of a roadside café, her vintage bakkie coughing a final puff of smoke. She wasn’t from the high-glamour streets of Sandton; she had a "bietjie Benoni" in her blood—a mix of leopard print, silver jewelry, and a refusal to take nonsense from anyone. The man sighed