The Red and Yellow Flags

He had watched people like me come and go, many times over. I could tell this from the manner he looked at me. At that time however I looked past his knowings, and my poor acting; I really needed a way out. It was already getting dark. I was sure to have seen them that morning. Whatever went wrong I couldn’t tell.

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Baby Sitting!

My uncle had twins last December and they are turning a year now. And he says those kids didn’t cry hell in his ears. Never. That they allowed him to sleep soundly.  Part of me is happy for him. But why didn’t they cry as much? Is it even normal? Maybe am being cynical since I’ve known babies to cry a lot my entire life and it’s difficult to believe that some actually don’t.

Kuoobie are you mean?

No am not. Then why do you write mean stuff? Mean in what way? Just that they are always tied with or rather they are full of mockery emotions. That’s just a way of writing, my style. What style? Satire. Sar-ta what? Yes, see when you write like that they say you are satirical. In writing [and speech], it is mockery [a style of using mockery] on certain behaviors or things in a humorous way in a way to show the bad side of it, lightly. Most times it may look like you are mean, utterly stupid or plainly mad [insane].

I was chatting with one of my biggest readers the other day and this topic came up so I thought to clear it out to the rest of you dear readers.

Stories Untold

“With such an ass my guy, you’ve the jackpot,” It was Chonjo. I sipped my bear, listened and watched.

I had arrived at the CRANKIE’S twenty or so minutes ago, intentionally, had chosen not to bring any company. It was now quarter to nine.

Misguided Happenings

So last month it’s been raining; cats and dogs, dogs and rats. I can’t complain on the rain but I can express my displeasure on its timing, can’t I? First thing first, it has to f**king stop.

Instead I stayed [III]

We had to wait a little longer for the bus to fill up before leaving the station. At last! I breathed out a hurrah. I could almost see myself home. And for once there was no ‘javelin crew’ holding on the rails, at least for now. Easy. The misters had so long settled and now people were occupied with their own stuffs.

Instead I stayed [II]

Among the 5 people I had counted last, two passengers caught my attention. Am sure the rest of the bus had also noticed them. For conversations hushed for a second or two the moment they stepped into the aisle. And the mesmerized glances followed them as they fumbled with their odd luggage to their seats.

Instead I stayed [I]

Everything about matatus (buses, vans and everything that looks like one) can be fun but not entirely. Talk of the music and I’ll give you an eight, on the radio stations most of you would give me a four – no lie, a sober trusted friend had confessed. On my part I would’ve voted way lower than that perhaps a two.

I am Thinking

I am Thinking. I want to comb my hair. I take a brush and throw the comb out through the window. I should have opened the windows. I don’t want to look odd, I use it to brush my beards instead.