4. The “Neatness” of our Trotro
The insides of some of these trotro though. It is either you feel you feet touching the tarred road or your dress gets torn or dirtied in some way.
You enter a trotro and for a split conscious moment you feel you are on at zoomlion’s headquaters.
The rubbish in them surpasses the stack of rubbish at La Gata’s residence. These mates and the drivers aren’t loyal at all, but how we go do am? Until we get that G-wagon, we have to unwillingly nibble on the bile.