Lifes' files

I met him one Saturday morning. He was going about his business. Garbed in specs, he glanced at the console on his right. “ Chemosi ,” he said, “Where have you been bru?” “I got scandals bru,” I said, “I am in a situation I might not be in a position to unfix.” “ Ngori .” He motioned to a sofa. Further, a polypropylene chair sat in wait. I pulled closer and sank in it. Deep in thought, I powered the console on. I was a gamer. So was he. “ Unasema ngori ,” he said. I knew he was about to say something baleful. “Another girl impregnated?” I ask, whilst throwing a surreptitious glance. “Not necessarily.”   I could sense some apprehension in his tone. “Wifey is due soon. I already have a tentative figure of the bill. Wifey folks will manage half of it.” “So, the other half the bill is whatchu looking at?” Yeah. [A retort] He was tall and wiry, with eyes that furnished some sleep, and some shash , perhaps. He wore a 6-foot frame, a pair of haggard eyes, and a neatly kempt afro - with a ...