Thu. Jan 17th, 2019

It’s About 7pm ,and we are seated at the shady part of the Club, Where young boys Call “Old men’s Tomb” or ‘Sponsor’s Launge’ .. You name it.

Unlike the Young men on the dance floor, We sit seemingly motionless,  stirring a cocktail’s straw, watching the ember Liquor tremble and swirl in the warming champagne glass, we try a sip but we no longer taste the Chardonnay nor the Pinot in the Champenoise Cocktail.Perhaps we should join the Lithe guys who seem to have the moment of their lives Grinding on the Behinds of Voluptuous Nairobi Girls. But we Sigh, We no longer see the Logic in Such,

You see the reason , we are in this hot ,Crowded bar anyway is because Braggadocios as we are, we can’t admit that we miss A certain Lady, To be specific an Ex Girlfriend we just broke up with weeks ago.  In that dirty ,Filthy subconscious each man has, we try to imagine, how she looked like in that nice Lace see through dress, she would always adorn at bed times, we get the image, After all no man easily forgets such Memories, But now we fathom you ,have moved on, being the Boss lady you are, Perhaps found yourself another Guy, with Stronger Arms,A Nark who’s tales of Love making make ours feel like old sad little Jokes, we visualize you in a seductive red velvet, Dress with your long hair let lose, with goosebumps all over your Rosy thighs as your new man, gently caresses you with the dignity of a sworn Knight,.. We can’t, such thoughts are what torments us these days, we curse you,your ancestors and the day we first lusted at you, which we Immediately regret and take a long drink to drown the angst.

After wallowing in the Empty Box, Our Senseless thoughts, we call it quits ,stand,Button up our Italian suit jacket ,and pay the bill with a tip for Frank,the bar man. We say our polite, Goodbyes to our drinking budies who probably are contemplating similar Women issues or even bigger problems, who knows its a Problematic Nation these days. We then stroll out with a stiff and a bounce on our gaits because we were Models years back,, we comb through our lace pockets and find the Mercedes Benz car keys which we then unlock and lock ourselves in the serenity of the car. We try listening to various channels ,but they are all playing those lousy love songs ,that heighten our Angst and drowning thoughts, for some reason we pick up our Phones, maybe because we are busy thinking of how ,you gently snore ,with your thumb lightly on your Silky lips,like a baby, our baby ,we can’t take it any more so we punch your phone number and press call, we already know its a Bad idea.

Its about 11 am and you were deep asleep, alone in your girly bed, you stir, on the second ring and pick up the phone, then sigh at the sight of our names in your Call screen, regardless you pick up the phone, perhaps out of curiosity or mere nostalgia ,  With your angelic voice you say ‘Hello’ and we feel a burst of spasm and glee throughout our bodies, meekly we answer back, “Hello ,Mia is that you?” Like hell we didn’t know! but deep down we knew it was you from your breathing to your voice. You take a while, maybe processing a favourable answer and respond, “Cliff it’s late,” we groan in apathy and say ,”I know, I just wanted to check up on you..” You seem a little touched but still respond in that tone you adapted since the break up, “Thank you, But you shouldn’t especially this late” We meekly respond “Sorry, I know” you then go on those long silent treats ,that it seems we can feel atoms and static on the line, then you curtly respond, ” I should hang up Dear” and immediately end the call.

You curse and Slam your pretty face on the pillow ,regretting the last word, hoping we  aren’t so dear, we broke your heart after all, you say nibbling on your nails, which you do when you are stressed. You toss and turn hating, perhaps loving the fact that we just disrupted your good night’s sleep.

We on the other side, sit still for a minute,  then jerk awake as if from a long slumber, and Turn on the Ignition, The roar of the V8 Mercedes Engine, brings a smile to our tired faces, and our hearts beat much stronger now. We step on the accelerator and head home hopeful Men.

Because the way you see Logic is not the way we see it.

Written By Wycliff Peter.

Published on Modish Republik.

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