He closed his eyes briefly. Immediately, his mind battled against itself in a bid to resolve the conflict boiling within his consciousness. The sound of breaking waves, screaming seabirds, the vehicular traffic and voices of the other lodgers, sailed in through every open space.
“It is Friday after all...” he told himself before stepping out for one beer, just one...
He went down the plwd-friendly stairs and majestically walked into the sports arena themed beer-joint, like a warrior. But as he waited for his drink, perched on one of the stools by the counter, one thing caught his eyes: a lone lady scrolling through her phone with a glass of Kingfisher wine in front of her, on the other end of the counter. Above an aura of clout & the crease-free dress she wore, Job was in no doubt that she came straight out of a nearby office to unwind after work. Something was not right with her, though. It was something more than her king-sized hips; more than her elegant height; more than her shining face and even more than her occasional glances. But Job could not tell exactly what.
The Sailors Crib, its modest clientele and its soft Rumba music promised him nothing short of pure niceness. The Guinness tasted just like Arthur-II intended.
Three hours later:
“Please lemme also buy one beer, just one, to celebrate this reunion.” Mwekali Nelang’u pleaded with a smile.
Job Learsim cocked his head sideways. Hic! Hic!
“We-l-l. W-w-e-ell, tw-e-nty, twe-e-n-nty six years is such a long time for sure. I’ll take it...”
The lady raised her glass.
“To good old memories mister Learsim; my primary school classmate!”