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FRIENDSHIP GOALS

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He didn’t look like much. He never did. His face was etched in a permanent scowl. It always was. We halted in mid conversation as we watched him make a beeline for the furthest corner of the garden. His pace was deliberate and unhurried like a man that time meant nothing to. The gist around town was that he just left Kirikiri Prison. Debo made a passing joke about him whipping out a pistol and stealing all our car keys and everybody burst out laughing. He had been to this Sunday evening hangout one time before and we wondered how he had heard about it. Debo, ever the joker was saying something about us not likely to get much food with him eating it all in a hungry rampage. This time he glanced briefly towards us as the laughter rose a notch higher. I sipped my half-filled bottle of 33 Export Lager beer slowly as I studied the object of our ridicule. I quickly grabbed another bottle and walked away from my friends. Don’t ask me why i did what i did, because i wouldn’t be
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AFTER WORK PLEASURES

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This city is strange. It attracts an eclectic mix of ideas and philosophies that are sometimes downright scary. A middle aged man, burnt brown by daily servitude under the sun, bare except for a well-worn short that clings to his muscled thigh. His feet, badly calloused yet taking nothing away from his spirited gait. He has but one objective, to quell the bitter taste that life has put in his mouth. The ritual is daily. It must be done. A critical part of the cycle of his existence. He quickly scans the other thirsty occupants in the drinking space and nods in approval. He’s home. Pennies in exchange for a pleasure of the senses; a worthy exchange.
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