I was engrossed in the movie when my rickety door opened. Kevo, a wily community boyfriend, stood grinning at the entrance.
He had dropped by to borrow my trendy sneakers because some rich lass wanted to take him out.
I didn’t want to, but I gave him the shoes with hopes that for once, he would realise where the shoes pinched, and offer one of his many girls to this brother in need.
I am a comrade scorned. Little is “March” because February, the so called month for love, usurped my comrade salary and left me bitter as lemon. On Valentine’s Day, amid the flowery frenzy, I was in my happy place – a bedsitter so small that an occupant can be deafened by any loud thoughts.
I had skived class and was hooked to a movie series. I was not ready to witness the yearly Feb 14 madness. Who wanted to see Brayo, the Alejandro of the class, putting all of us men to shame by stringing a guitar while belting John Legend’s romantic songs on the corridor? Moreover, seeing campus girls colour clashing in various shades of red would be traumatic considering my initial dream of being a doctor was short lived due to my fear of bright red blood.
