Fleeting moments

I don’t like closed shoes. I feel like they drag my soles, they try to decide how I’ll walk, and too many shoe strings pain my ankles, so my preference lies with sandals. I also don’t know how to shop for closed shoes, I used to think that anything went, the reason why, for a very long time I had walked around on these NIKES that I only recently found out were running shoes. I have these maasai ones that are just the winner, sandals now, not NIKES. Read More »

A word for the guys

Somewhere buried deep in the confines of my head, there’s an old man that sits there with a stick. Needless to say he has a beard; it’s white, and the stick I think we all know what that is for. This man talks to me as I write this, and he sounds like Leonardo Dicaprio when he played Gatsby.  There’s a way he calls Tobey Maguire, he calls him old sport. Let’s not even try to deny how good that sounds, it’s the voice of authority, of age. I will toss this name here and there from now on, (because I lack creativity to come up with my own shit) okay old sport? (See? It works)Read More »

Getting through

Friday night. Around 9 p.m. Nakumatt Karen. The parking lot. It’s cold and quiet, smells like downpour. There’s a line of cabs across the road, and the drivers are in small crowds, tossed in banter and laughing that hangs in the air. The guard at the gate has stopped a slightly intoxicated chap that has wandered in, phone in hand. The wochi wants to know why this guy is taking pictures at this hour, but this isn’t your usual getting of a story, no, it’s the turning point, it has something to do with why I have popped up here after a while.

Let’s go back a bit.Read More »