It was a beautiful, windy Tuesday morning. He woke up to the sultry voice of Wizkid’s Baba nla floating in from his neighbor’s sound system. Noise is a natural phenomenon on the street. You sleep with it and wake up with it.
Like the proverbial “Ruthu Abokoku” the harmattan is back and the dry wind caresses him as he snuggled for warmth on his bed. The warmth of the bed held him on but the soft whisper of no job no grub stirred him on. It’s a beautiful morning but not all beautiful mornings birth beautiful nights.
The sun packed up to leave the stage for the moon just as he packed up to join up with his friends. Work was good as usual. He collected a friend’s phone to sample new musical content. Smiling like nobody’s business little did he know what the street had in store for him.
Along the road that leads home is the conclave of the “Paradise fools” who sit with long faces like Vultures. They were fast and clinical like shadow assassins. His friends left him behind in the chaos. Poor him against nicotine-induced vultures. The phone became the point of attraction and loyal him would not give in and lose a friends phone.
The struggle was on TILL he felt the sharp sting on his neck. He has been stabbed. It’s a lost cause, a stab to the neck around the jugular vein. Help was not forthcoming.
The wise cowards that left him behind came back to see a bleeding fellow. He was helped up, taken to the hospital but his street time was over and he had to go. He died that night. Another victim of the STREET…
Read Tales by Streetlight – Part 1 here