You met a girl outside Kenya Cinema. She wore baggy stonewash jeans. She – left handed – scribbled her telephone number on a scrap of paper you borrowed from a shop inside. “Is this a four or a nine?” …
She confronted her daughter one evening after she had cleared the dinner plates. Her daughter had leaned back in the creaky wooden chair she had sat on, away from the light and truth and she denied it. She couldn’t …
“So, actually this didn’t bother me. What bothered me was that she acted like we are friends!” She turns from the dresser mirror and looks at you. “Can you believe that?” You shake your head. You can’t believe it. …
