A second nudge on my arm came only a few moments after the first. It was no less annoying, but my focus was fixed on managing the storm inside of me. 

The bumpy bus ride wasn’t at helping my already precarious state. Each time we fell into one of the innumerable wells which littered the road and made it such a nightmare to traverse, a wave raced towards my throat, prompting me to instinctively clamp my mouth shut until it receded as the vehicle leveled out. 

‘Excuse me’, he whispered tentatively as he drew closer, his hot breath reeking of onions.  I was about to tell him now wasn’t a good time for conversation when the bus plunged again. 

My partially digested late breakfast of beans and yam pottage and the three bottles of cheap beer which followed later again charged, and this time, found the gate unguarded. In the twinkle of an eye, lover boy was drenched from head to toe in an abominably smelly brown sludge. 

And the worst part, I wasn’t even sorry.

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