On a Saturday afternoon…

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Saturday 1400hrs

It is a Saturday afternoon; the air is pregnant with humidity. I sit outside my father’s house on a plastic chair enjoying the company of Bobby the family dog. He is a bit out of breath and he keeps panting harder each time I throw the stick for him to fetch. I envy his energy, with that type of zest, I could actually change the world instead of bask. I engage the beefy yet agile German shepherd in this mundane game that he seems to enjoy so much. I could care less about nature but the power is out so I cannot waste away this afternoon on my Xbox. It is 17 degrees Celsius and I cannot help think that this is what they call summer in Europe. We really do have fine weather in Kenya, explains the British exodus that marked the last century. Poor Brits were ousted by the people of central Kenya through merciless guerrilla warfare. Had we known better we’d have had you stay, maybe Pierce Morgan would have been a half black.

Saturday 1500hrs

The sun is now weak at best, thicker clouds cover the sky. Temperatures have probably decreased by a degree or two. The power is still out and the boredom is slowly killing my will to live. I remember a contact; the guy; who supplies me with my recreational prescription meds. I call the guy.

Saturday 1547hrs

I have a vial of Pethidine in hand, a sterile needle and syringe. Just we are clear. I had never used this drug before. I have always steered clear of anything that has a he potential to conjure an addiction. I took an educated opinion from my dealer that it would send me to the other worldly experience, something like what Steve Jobs did with LSD. True to his word it did

First you feel the prick of the needle, and then the drug slowly eases into your veins. At this point I felt my whole body go cold, like being hugged by a reptile. I seemed to black out from what I can only compare to a thousand orgasms. I have no idea how long I was out but when I came to my boxers were wet at the front, I was nursing a semi and I had snort all over my T shirt. In hindsight, I was in a very pitiable state, but Bobby did not care, he was there dutifully staying guard in case someone decided to harvest my organs. Given that my motor skills seemed to be somewhat restored I made a beeline for my notepad and this is what I jotted down, word for word.

“This is life. I have been screwed over by people in more ways than a prostitute from Amsterdam. I have had passionate fights with my family over trivialities. I have witnessed shit that has changed me forever. I have blamed my current lover for things old lovers did. I have lost family members I never thought I could do without. I have quietly and intentionally orchestrated the death of some of my friendships. I have had my fair share of laughs, a few cries and embarrassments. Yet today, under the help of prescription meds, with semen in my boxers, snort on my collar, none of these matter.

In this moment, I profoundly understand that everybody has a past and I can finally sit back and acknowledge that shit happens to the people who can handle it. This is who I am, and nobody has the right to change that, including myself.”

PS: Any drugs that the author of this post may have used were purely for research purposes. Masharia Kanayri is not a habitual drug abuser neither does he condone the recreational use of prescription drugs. 

 

 

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