In the long echoing corridor, a man leans his bicycle against the wall. He does it gently, like he’s afraid to bruise it. Like you would lay an infant in its cot. It’s one of those waif,
An insurance guy is coming over to our office. He’s coming to sell an insurance policy because that’s what an insurance guy would be coming to do if they were to come to your office.
I was in Kinangop over the weekend. A two hour and 12 mins drive and everything completely changes, tall buildings fall off and are replaced with open land and pine trees and fresh air.
If you are reading this as soon as soon as it’s posted then I’m probably 39,000ft somewhere over West Africa, barreling towards the motherland in a KQ Boeing 787-8, non-stop from New York. If all goes to plan and someone important sends an email to another important person I will have ended up in Business Class,
“Gordon, your mother is waiting for you by the library,” the dorm captain told him, standing at the door of the cubicle that he shared with five other boys. The dorm captain was a big and cruel hairy ape of a man.
Someone emailed and asked why I don’t write about Tamms anymore, did we break up? (Ho-ho-ho.) It’s because she’s 10 years now, a few months shy of 11-years. And it’s a big deal. I know you must think,