You can think of me as a mishmash of Ace Ventura and Mike Lowrey. jayjayraymond.wordpress.com
On his final day as the resident of the boxy self-contain on Osazuwa street, he sat on his neighbour’s bench and watched people go about their everyday business. Children ran around in the rain that drizzled. Adults walked gingerly around puddles that were unevenly distributed along the street.
Abraham’s apartment was a two-bedroom. They sat in his bed. Regina knew what was going to happen and it was just a matter of when. She knew she wasn’t just there because of DVDs. When Abraham stepped out of the bedroom to turn off the TV in the sitting room, Regina got a WhatsApp message from Hakeem: I’m really sorry. Can we talk tomorrow?
There was something noticeably off about the way Mrs. Alade looked at Regina who was walking towards her. The smile Regina was accustomed to seeing was missing. In place of the smile was a hostile leer. Regina sat on the tall stool in front of the enclosed lobby desk, watching Mrs. Alade give her monosyllabic responses and dismissive shrugs.
The air was thick with tension. There was a Patoranking video playing on MTV Base, but their minds had drifted away from the moving figures on the 25-inch plasma TV. The inevitable was impending, but no one would make the first move. Hakeem suddenly turned towards Regina and she instantly did the same, as though her entire being had been anticipating some kind of signal from him.
Regina always wondered if the reason he never really talked to her was because he felt there was no point trying his luck with the Scripture Union-going, debate-leading Regina. She could never approach him because she felt she had a reputation to retain, and hanging out with Simon would jeopardise everything.
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