I turn to my bedside-table. My eyes can barely make out the time, 00.09. I groggily drag the ringing phone towards me and squint, trying to read the tag on the glaring screen. Her!
“Hello?”
“Are you awake?” The familiar voice on the other end asks.
“Hey, Ssup?”
“Hey, did I wake you?”
“Naah…. don’t fret wssup? ” I lied (men will never tell you that you’re bothering them)
“Just feeling low, wanted to talk to you”
“Sure, what’s wrong? (Cough!)”
“He dumped me….”
(This is some sort’a test, isn’t it? )
“Ummm. …. Sorry, are you okay? Where are you?”
“Outside some club.. (sniffle!)”
“Do you have a ride home? Want me to come get you?”
“Naah, my girls are taking me home.. (sigh!)”
(Silence)
“I’m sorry….”
(silence)
“he doesn’t deserve you. I-”
“I gotta go. Talk later, okay? And thanks for this. Love ya (hangs up)”
“Damn!” Why does she do this to me? Why do I do this to myself?’
It’s the dead of night, those lucky amongst us are under their duvets, enjoying the subtle warmth that envelopes in deep slumber. The rest, wide awake, humming to the toads and crickets, staring at walls, raiding fridges and surveying those insta-crushes.
Ladies and gentlemen, tomorrow, its’ vices and problems are here, or are they todays’?
African, Human. 