Voices can be heard from a distance shrouded in deep arguments. They are loud but indistinguishable. Men laughing as if they have the world at their feet. Women talking and sharp shrills can be picked from the edge of their voices. Music is struggling for a chance in the background and matatus rumbling loudly along the avenue.

You look across the street at men and women walking by unaware of the existence of the joint. They have a stooping economy to chase and the frustration is evident on their faces. Cars park, cars leave, cars get stuck at a traffic jam.

The drink is sinking deep into your system. It is unwinding all the knots in you yet tightening others so you feel a faint headache. The cold drink however streams down your throat and dissipates amply in your stomach.

You remember friends who know how to discuss issues with the grasp of sages. Men you’ve always had the pleasure to refer to as learned friends although the much they know about law is the ICC proceedings they have been following on You tube. Men who can tell your thoughts from the look in your eyes without giving an insinuation that they want to offend Robert Mugabe.

You hunch over your phone and lose yourself to the flow of the read. You nod and smile and look around seeking a party with whom you can share the sweetness. Quickly you copy a paragraph and send it to Silas, that rascal with whom you get along so well.

You sip. Everyone else sips

At the summit of I & M building, dark birds float around buoyantly as if seeking to open a bank account at this age of unpredictable economy and disguised government cash crunch and leave soon.The darkness encroach stealthily like a cat stalking a weaver bird on a tall tree. In the calm and ruckus and business, it keeps getting thicker until the light gives up and disappears hoping to fight another day.

Even in the solitude of the moment you find company in the notepad and you scribble the evening away like a journalist at a press conference. You let the hum in your head rock as you try to pinpoint the distinct notes that need be transcribed. The smell of beer bathes your lungs. The buzz from the screens fills your ears.

As the street lights begin to glow, twilight girls materialize under the yellow lights with some having one long leg stuck against the posts hoisting the lights. You soak in your beer and reads and the magical aura. The breeze sweeps through your face and its kisses make your skin numb.

Suddenly you remember the trouble you will get into with your wife. All the tantrums and unexplained silence and rhetoric questions and groggy food and hunger strikes. You thank God she has not graduated to Premier League which other women you hear on prime time news have. How would you survive without your member? The horror that’s attached to the scenario awakens you and so you stagger out while your head hangs on to the sight of pretty waitresses in red short short skirts and try to envision a shortcut into their thighs.


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