I once lived a floor above a hooker. She’d step out every night donning garish clothes, with painted lips and tottering on the highest of heels. Most nights, because we had perennial water problems, she would ask me to …
In 2003, I was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed intern at Ayton Young and Rubicam along Mombasa Road. (They have since been discarded into the wasteland of failed companies, swallowed by the black pit of ruthless competition). Back then interns …
