The young man sizzles from within like a bubbling pot of tomato sauce. He’s planning. Polishing. Perfecting. Double-checking the knife in his underwear. He drops a thousand-naira note on a stool by the door. “Close your eyes,” he orders.
The prostitute honors her customer with a look bearing the full force of her disdain while tapping blood-red talons on the withered bed. Her face is hidden under layers of powders, oils and artificial eyelashes so long, they intersect with her fringe. The chewing-gum goes tap tap tap. “Forget what chairlady talk. One round of kinky na seven-hundred naira.”
The young man sizzles from within like a bubbling pot of tomato sauce. He’s planning. Polishing. Perfecting. Double-checking the knife in his underwear. He drops a thousand-naira note on a stool by the door. “Close your eyes,” he orders.
Sue Clayton
16/12/2020 12:13:10 am
Red was not the colour of happiness and good fortune in this tale. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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