Hooked

I’m seated at this little place. There’s a lady curled in the corner. Alone. Smoking. Drinking. Minding her business. 

Let me write about her.

She‘s this type, you know them, the creative type. She looks like Erykah Badu. Her presence fills up the room, competing with the smoke from her cigarette. Her hair is tied neatly. Her eyes? Well, let me tell you about her eyes. Piercing, these big sexy eyes. If she looked hard enough, she could see my brains. Eyes so sharp you can tell that’s her weapon. Intimidating eyes. 

Now, add her luscious lips and you’ll get a complete picture. A masterpiece. A mural of sexiness. A picture Picasso would be proud of. She sits in silence. Occasionally, she yanks out her phone, scrolls through, with her manicured fingers. A giggle escapes her well-oiled lips. Must be a TikTok video. A WhatsApp text. I don’t know what you guys do to make girls giggle nowadays. She orders a fancy drink that comes in this baby glass and takes a quick shot. Eyes closed, as if in pain. 

I don’t know what she does. I don’t know where to place her. Advertising? Well, she looks like an art director. A director of her own art. Banker? Not with that giant tattoo. Maybe I am judging her harshly. I ‘withdraw’ my judgement. Fashion? I don’t know, man. It’s hard to know nowadays. We are all in this unending circus that’s capitalism. We are all doing all sorts of things to stay afloat. She stares at me and I quickly look away. Again, with those eyes. 

“Your order is here, ma’am?” – A lady announces. 

For the first time, she stands up. My God, she’s tall. Too tall. Almost touching the ceiling, she walks over and collects her order. I stare. I had to. Wondering why she patiently waited for this order. It must mean a lot to her. It must mean the world to her. 

It was Yalelo fish.