I swayed in my seat as the Keke-Napep swerved rightward to circumvent a pothole on the centre of the road. The breeze from the warm Sunday morning fanned across my face as I typed away on the keypad of my Blackberry.
It’d been exactly two weeks since that other Sunday morning of my near kito experience, since the day I met Bryson. And all of those two weeks had been unimaginably idyllic. I was happy, very happy, the kind of happy that R&B crooners talked about in their songs, all because of the reemergence of Bryson in my life, and I was on my way to Yinka’s place to reacquaint myself with my friends and their lives, which I’d unintentionally stayed away from the past two weeks.
The speed of the Keke-Napep began to drop as the driver drew up toward a mild hold-up. A big truck, some vehicles ahead of us, was gradually pulling out onto the main road from an exit ramp, and its slow progress was causing a delay in the traffic. The lull in the strength of the draft allowed for the dewing of mild perspiration across my forehead, and I began fanning the magazine in my hand across my face, leaning back against the well-worn leather of the passenger seat.
Staring sightlessly at the traffic in front, I let my mind get transported to that Sunday two weeks ago. Continue reading