I was sitting in the back of a car, wondering how I’d gotten there. My friend at the time was riding shotgun and our driver could be described as wearing a black turban with his white hair peeking out beneath it; a Sikh. I don’t know how they’d met each other but she’d asked me along, now that I think about it, to bring life to their party. Not a well thought out move on her part. He was very quiet, sure, but I can’t say I’m much better.
Friday the tenth, twelve thirteen pm. Employees are walking around whispering in the corridors. And from the window on one side of the wall of their office, the manager can be seen repeatedly loosening his tie and scratching at his bald spot. He’s taken to coming to work without a coat. The office he shares with the co-director seems cramped and cluttered with chairs and used tea cups. The air inside is hot and the ceiling fan has been running non-stop since Monday. Footsteps echo along the laminate flooring outside their door. It’s been nine days since the end of the month and no one’s been paid.
I see it as from outside a window,
Myself walking fast, head bowed,
Life happening all around me without sound,
Distanced even then, not sure I know why
The paces of development grow hazy around that line.
My heart was soft,
My head curiously empty,
A balloon floating along,
Not certain where she might belong
Continue reading “I Still Go There In My Head”
A bright dot within the grey background of low slung houses
She kicks up no gravel as she walks
The silence of a graveyard but with homes
White cars in front like grave stones
Continued from Rock City.
She’d been in the toilet for three hours now. Three hours of horrifying, gut-wrenching, noises that came from the back of the house where Saika had disappeared since they got home. Georgy, thinking she’d gone to throw up, had gathered her things and gone in after her to help. But after hearing the door to the bathroom slam shut and the sound of the tap coming on under an empty bucket, she paused mid-step. Oh no. Oh, God.
Razor’s was pumping. Which was not to say that it wasn’t usually. But tonight seemed way too intense to pass off as a regular Saturday. The air was electric, the bitches eclectic, and in all likelihood, you could swipe alcohol from a table and nobody would look at you twice. Continue reading “Zookeepers Are Perverts – Allegedly.”
Continued from Sometimes it Is what you don’t have.
The car wended its way through the sand streaked tarmac road, Georgina let down the window. The humid wind felt good on her face. Mwanza was not as hot as the coast of Tanzania but being at the lakeside, it was not cool either. They were on their way to a traditional doctor, known for a detoxifying herb that cleaned out the colon. But Georgina and her sister, Saika, didn’t know that. Having visited these kinds of doctors from one end of the country to the other, they hadn’t bothered to find out specifics. They were all the same now.