We hadn’t spoken in more two weeks, it worried me slightly because while we had intervals when we wouldn’t speak, this one seemed colder than all the previous gaps. We often spoke for hours, about nothing, about everything, about God and antimatter and all the things between heaven and earth. But we could not speak of Aretha Franklin.
In the year of our lord 2000AD, while I was on holiday from boarding school, I did something that made my father very afraid. My mother had travelled and it was just Daddy and us and we had just returned from church, it was Sunday morning. Continue reading →
My neighbour’s girlfriend is pounding yam again, the echo of the thud of the pestle on the yam slices against the mortar seeps through the concrete decking into my room, the vibrations make my windows rattle. She pounds every day, rattling my window in the mid-morning when I try to catch the second wave of sleep after losing the first round in the hours after I return from my night shift at the factory. Her pounding always delays that second round of sleep but I smile when it starts, it means I would eat baby-face smooth pounded yam in a few hours.