Cereal Killer II: Who Knows?
Someone said armed robbers should take on the wealthy. I beg to differ.
Predators prey on the weak. In other words, the weak are food for the strong. Why should an armed robber prey on a thief like him – when there are thousands of other people who would give him about the same thing with less stress? Why should I bother myself with Abgani or Genevieve – when there’s a girl right next door who’s hotter than both of them put together?
I’m at the office and I’m bored. They’re arguing as usual – arguing about something the president did or didn’t do. As though if they were there they would do any better.
I’m sitting there with an amused smile on my face – but I’m as far away from the office as salvation is from me. My mind scurries around like a rat in a maze – catching thought after thought and discarding it as fast as a child playing with hot coals. I’m bored.
The door opens and closes as I try to listen to the fools arguing. Their arguments are so irrational and disjoint – and then someone asks me what I think?
“What do you think?”
I look up – or maybe I wake up, and there they are looking at me with expectation.
“I think you guys are jobless, arguing with each other about what the president did or didn’t do. Nothing you and I say here is going to make any difference – and it isn’t like anyone of us would be more productive anyway.”
They are quiet. They are actually quiet – and then one by one they breakup the discussion and walk back to their tables, watching me from under their eyes. Heh. If what people thought actually meant shit to me…
“I didn’t know you were this harsh o. Haba. Why na?”
A hot mouth breathes into my left ear. It actually tickles an annoying bit.
I turn and look up, and it’s her; the small-boobed-tiny-waisted-bubble-butted-bow-legged dream that is the new secretary. She smells like a freshly-opened pack of Golden Morn would smell, as she bends over and I almost have my nose in her perfectly-created cleavage. She wants to play – but prudence calms my overeager senses. It would be awkward if she suddenly disappears.
I clear my throat loudly and she adjusts herself. “What is it you want?” I ask her coldly.
I have successful confused the poor girl. I see the look of dismay that appears on her face. I couldn’t give less of a fuck. “There’s a time for work, luv. And a time for playing. After work, if you feel an urge to continue – you know where to find me.”
She stumbles towards her cubicle in a hurry, almost breaking off one of the heels of the quite-high stilettos she was wearing. Behind me, I hear smothered laughter and turn towards the source of the sound. I hope to quell it with a cold look, but someone else starts laughing…and then the whole office erupts in laughter.
“But ol boi, you harsh die I swear! Abi you be gay ni?” That was Ife, the office jester.
“Maybe,” I answer, looking at him speculatively.
Maybe I am. You never know…
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