Wednesday, 11 September 2013



 Carried through simulated hemmed-in fog and dumped before early sunlight begin to cast first shadows on our impure places; the sobriety mortley crue mused had managed to play itself into the reach of death. John yells in a low voice, “We’re out!” why won’t we be? Ade searches every sensitive corner in the whole of the room through john’s face before even a blink, , ”you smoked all over the place like you bought a takeaway meal from a buffalo before realising it’s a buffet, not one joint left over! Well john has a joint hiding away, up high in one of the foot wears so that at any perfectly inspired hunt of a random line of criminal foot wears of them likes he, himself would not pick out the smuggler foot wear, despite that the two had been on a hopeless smoking spree for so long that the room itself is smoked high, 30 wall clocks would have just about enough to smoke in a day and they’d sleep for twelve times by the day they’d smoked. I would have liked to say I don’t like splashing names and labels on smoke but in actual fact I’d say I wouldn’t want to advertise, that would come at a high cost. As Ade throws his head into a folded t-shirt john had just
arrived through the door with a white kite barely held by a depressed face lifted by a muse of undying fire of vulnerable helplessness it appears His foolishness had starched a singlet, left it for dead at the mercy of Apollo, hung in bare air yet who’d dare to blame him he’s fairly societally-driven into a thick narrow hollow, of battered creamy mud of trending fashion and swagger but Ade’s non judgemental carefree face sets him free of his mutely expressed fright he therefore pushes his luck further through a forced pretence, “I’m not feeling too well." So he could stay back search and smoke his stray joint, he’d prefer that to breakfast. How caring; Ade had become aware of this obvious pretence assuredly cools his fuming incompetence into a rethink towards rectitude , “imele, you should have palm wine at alhaja’s after breakfast “ prescribes just as though he’d diagnosed him already “palm wine is a general overseer, anyway you need smoke some jedi and jabalu and probably kanaku…he continues but unwillingness forcefully abducts my pen.

They had breakfast at some fancy place before my pen regains freedom, consciousness, and willingness but john’s lips seem rather too excited and his tooth picks seem delicious because he has a lot of them. They had arrived alhaja’s a little earlier settled down while rofia deters them from sitting on the roofer so they don’t impede the sounds, Ade shouts a order for two fantas but rofia replies “we have only mineral” after a while of dragging and laughing, she settles to bring the mineral which turns out to be a mirinda, as they lose about four tramadols and a passion each into the mineral a man walks in and immediately requests for benson, now there’s a particularly special thing about the cigarette thing around, years back when only benson carried the caution; the federal ministry of health warns that smokers are liable t die young, at first, only benson carried it then and somehow managed to give itself a kind of pleasant monopolised advantage that a lot of people recognised the it by warning but somehow it was most consumed simply because it carried a ‘die young’ factor people obviously want to live fast die young and most of all have a good looking corpse, so others cut to the chase, even the edge, esse black, gold etc. while Ade shakes and mix his drug, he clocks unusually, two ladies crawl out of the bunk just opposite as they discreetly starch papers in their bags, the first one vaguely familiar, but surprisingly the other is otherwise farmiliar; so he taps john as he accelerates in a sprint, and john selflessly takes after him, he jugs while john race-walk. Ade had finally caught up, murmured cute and funny irrelevants about bailing so when john finally caught up panting, “can I steal her for a moment please?” they both stride in low steps leaving john in company of a total stranger. As they walk, "once, I saw you around, but you were looking so stunning so I made myself believe it was probably the dress that I’d have to talk to you next time when your not wearing that dress but that couldn’t have been right because you’ve always been so stunning so I thought I’d take my chance anyway…"that sounds extremely wacker than dummer but still somehow manages to infect her face with a solemn smile which I really can’t explain how, why, or what for. Ade of course continues while she pulls out her phone which teleports him into a strained gaze into a bottomless pit of bitterness and regret, shifts to the brink, leisurely  drifting in selflessly; lost in a trance, john too had ruggedly jolted himself out of this feeling severally but arrested back in severally too. She notices and attempts to save him, “which do you prefer, twitter of Facebook” he stretches out and reaches her generous arm to salvation “I’m not really a social network guy but if I'm to choose, like you have a gun to my head, I’d say, white or blue, its just a bunch of people ganging up against the slightest reality and absolute common sense, self juicing themselves over the unfunnies through a screenless pleasuring machine, no offence! She seem to have been letting Ade’s arm slide in a glider back in but she selflessly holds firm yet again, “non taking” and she smiles a little. “I mean we’ve lost the sense of genuine conversation, eroding every last bit of the body system, these days people would rather say lol than actually laugh which even isn’t a word…yet”. Well almost right the internet is a fuming muse of fire that sprang innovation to simulated pitiful fate. The smart ones are out here blogging, facebooking, twittering, youtubing and what not while the dumb ones throw mace at each others in senate houses. “But basically you can’t judge the wanker by the suit right? She replies “lol” Ade smiles the disappointment off, “maybe you can” they’d both become relaxed by now but john on the other hand had seen it all, you can only imagine. Ade is clear off the bottomless pit now living john to wrath alone, so much for friendship after all, but no one knows anyone from Adam here. I…don’t know your name. "most guys around would ask for a digit or number before even my name, most of them not at all so your doing just good for now, I’m sasha! That lobs Ade to a limbo of surprise, she smiles, “what were you expecting, a page or cage or lade? No more like a laid or gage, no! You look more like a peace, a gift, grace and all. She is herself amazed and wows her startler off. I’m Ade! “Really?” yeah, well I’m more traditional than that sounds, I’m that guy who would pay for a Brazilian or Peruvian hair and if you buy and bring home shuku and probably less than a pound of Peruvian flake I’ll certainly wife you just cus the kitchen is your priority. She smiles deeply and rather intensely this time that Ade himself starts to feel purposely uncomfortable, so you’ll think I was going to cook wit a pound of Peruvian flake? Yes! Like a salt? Ok maybe not but that’s what an Ade should think on a good day right? You do look even prettier when you smile. “Oh dude! Don’t go there, you were doing really well, so...don’t push it ok? What, I was making my move. "That’s your move, really, her eyes roles swiftly. Explains how traditional you really are." Either john had consciously saved himself or unconsciously, the former would be he’d asked where they were headed for or the latter; she can now see the blood in his eyes or perceive it from his breathe, they are both walking towards Ade’s direction while john receives a fleeting phone call. Just before they’d reached them sasha had requested for Ade’s phone, who instinctively refrains at first. “What, you weren’t expecting me to hand you my number in a paper were you? He wilfully gives it out now, no, not really, I’m adjusting, it’s the 21st century. The message from the phone call was Ade’s, so john passes it accordingly; bishop says to bring the English along this evening! They all share some pleasantries and depart but Ade's mood had swung and she could see it. John: she seems cool... "her name’s Sasha!" Oh that can’t be good. Ade: no it can’t.... 

He starches the englis in his kangol and fits it to his head, seemingly drifting off his head but gathers just about enough grip to hol the relevant, at this kind of moment you realise just what’s important in life; your head in one hand and your weapon in another, the sasha’s and the swags are not merely irrelevant; they come highly dispensable and disposable because out here, eventually you are always alone and no one’s coming to save anyone. They both step out to battle, feet in front after another, like the Meryans; to extinction…

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