Vrrrrrm in the bus

I didn’t have plot, plot like they call it, those that call it what they call it. I didn’t know or have anything lined up for this Easter period. I had been in a bar the previous night with the best brain I’ve ever acquainted with, acing the quiz that I forgot to notify the concerned parties about the would be program for the holiday.

It had been a night of discovering the unknown, a night of cumulative eureka moments. See the quiz is one place where you gladly accept that you are utterly naive about somethings. It had been a night of drinks and more drinks, on top of the drinks and the pork we bought, we had won four out of five rounds that night. And for every round was a free bucket, well not that free, because all night long the brain was at work.

It had been a night of meeting new friends, happy tipsy strangers who drunk like a cannula and smoked like a barrel. People who are the unapproachable bosses we see everyday in top offices, pretty women who we see on TV every evening but are so social in that setting.
We finished our session, stayed and talked mostly about the legend that was Johan Cruyff, the Adam Johnson prison sentence and the recent Obama Cuba visit. Midnight came and we departed, the night swallowed us till the next Thursdsy.

I went home, to the bed that bottles my dreams. It was raining and I was wet, but it was hot, so hot inside the house. Clothes were tossed on the floor and I jumped into the bed, tired, tipsy and worn out. I dreamt, I sure did, but was lazy to try recall what it was that I had been engrossed in all night.

Morning came and I had half a hangover, fried an egg, bought a chappati and buns, made sorghum porridge and half naked I sat in the living room, feeling alive. The Brussels bombings on TV were a bit boring, so I resorted to scrabble. I have learnt to play against myself, I call it a left brain vs right brain. I know it’s cerebral masturbation but what to do!

In the middle of it came that call from Her Majesty, “you have to come, Easter alone with none of my children isn’t what I would like, I’ll even pay for your return journey if that’s what it takes.” Mum speaking. I showered like a possessed altar boy, on the boda, in the bus I had to be. On this Journey I embarked.

Seating here with this stranger who has since turned friend, I am, writing this. She’s a lawyer too, with geek spects, a flawless skin and no make up. Wait for it, she’s got this pearl natural hair and she’ll be my friend much as it might be the last time I see her.

I want to sleep but can’t since this has got to be my first post on the highway.

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