Why in whoever’s name?

I am not going to defend myself on the allegations that most of my posts are based on the events of myself getting the better of an alcoholic beverage. I wouldn’t classify myself as a drug because I am abused by these genius chemical portions. I had been alcohol free for close to six months after the Sheeva incident and things were looking really good for me. I was able to save up some money and get myself enough alcohol just in case an apocalypse occurred and I was left behind. This is one Friday I would like to forget but its memory keeps on flashing before me every time I switch on the television or go to the city centre or school.

Friday the 13th it was and everything was smooth other than than the hunger pangs that were constantly clawing my intestines out. So Eric, my heavily built friend  shows up and after careful deliberation we decide to get a loaf of bread and milk. That was the first mistake I made. At the moment it seemed as the best option to nullify the curse from my guts. As usual, Eric was the one who came up with the bright idea to get ourselves a small drink just to get the day rolling. We headed down to Dong Fang and after careful negotiations settled for the king, “Napoleon”. This we drowned without an issue and headed back to school with beaming faces knowing the night was going to be epic and epic it was. After about half an hour, another sinner in the name of Junior makes his way in and on using his psychic abilities suggests we get another drink. That was mistake number two, listening to this character. We head out and on the way the devil incarnate appears. The realBIGmeat is his name. I can solemnly swear this guy hides his tail and horns during the day but his eyes are still red though. This was a big enough quorum and we head over to the liquor store at  Kenol Hurlingam and get a bottle of Kibao. Knowing my history with this drink I proceeded with caution and took like three chokes. By this time the naps was already checking in. “Where is it written dilute to taste? Where?” Yes. That was Byrone asking why we need to get soda for the kibao. By this time Oriwo (formerly a gangsta) had absconded his duty to love and chose the bottle. We obtained the second bottle and this is where, the devil opened up his home. We finished it in less than five and started to put the actions that follow into use. The first one was to hijack the night guards chair and refuse to move from it. I did the sitting, the devil did the refusing. This was probably the first and last time I approached a Sud mami. All I can remember is some Arabic mambo jambo and the next thing I was being held back. I shall avoid the next four hours because I have no recollection whatsoever of what transpired but the period after was more shocking. I woke up and just walked out of the room in my socks but it was colder than usual. I know we have no staircase in the house so when I went down the steps I started questioning myself. What woke me up was the mourning because clearly that was not moaning from one of the rooms to my right. Before I could recover from that shock, the sight of a watchman made it even worse. And just before I could question him, I see a lady walking out of a bathroom with nothing but her fro to cover her. I passed out for a second or two and when I came to, I started questioning the watchman. He narrated how a group of rowdy looking men had brought me there and promised to come pick me up in the morning. All this while I hadn’t realized that my shoes were missing, my spectacles were lost and I had large cut beside my eye. This is when it all got real. As I’m negotiating with this watchman to give me my phone and shoes that I had voluntarily abandoned in Hurlingam.

The sun was almost coming up and I could not walk out of a brothel at that time of the day with all the respect I am yet to command in Nairobi. So I coaxed the watchie into giving me fifty bob and walked around the rooms looking for someone who did not need their shoes. I luckily found one outside a room where some guy was using unorthodox means to pleasure this mama. I didn’t want to interrupt them just for gratitude, so I tiptoed away with the ladies rubber shoes. I rushed out of the place, went and got a jav home and tried filling in the missing puzzle to the night. I removed the rubber shoes as soon as I got to the gate and walked in innocently before blacking out. The best part about all this is that I went to Hurlingam the next day and found my loyal and durable Nokia phone still ringing on the road. I have not had such an experience since then but I always ask myself, “Why in whoever’s name did I have to do all that?

About The One Potter

I'm not very different from the next writer. I'm extremely different. I don't just write, I live the life I write. I'd leave my number here for you but my email the1potter@gmail.com will suffice for now.
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