By Eddo
I swagger into the bar like I own the place, which I don’t. Truth is I look good and I know it. What’s more, I feel great – top of the world. Sure, I am an arrogant bastard but that can be excused when you have the brains to make 30 crisp Gs in one hour without breaking a sweat.
I picked up cash from the finance manager, hustled over to town in a cab, bought some laptops for the office and inflated the price.
That’s why I am sitting on a bulging wallet and itching to burn it. By the time the auditors catch up with me I might be on kissing terms with the company’s hot Ethiopian director.
But why bother about auditors when you are in a sexy pub on Friday night; the music is right and women hot.
She walks in hesitantly, stops by the counter and parts strands of fake hair off her face. My jaw — and it isn’t the only one — drops. Her face is flawless, bust stupendous, hips gorgeous and legs…I want to sprinkle kachumbari on them and eat them.
"Excuse me? Pilsner baridi kama kawaida?" a voice rudely interrupts. Isn’t it annoying how the bar waitress suddenly pops up when you least want to see her?
"Get me a double Famous. Neat," I answer loud enough for the Madonna’s benefit. Chicks love an expensive dude.
"What are you staring at? You’re hoping they will pop out?" the Madonna suddenly hisses in my face. To my credit, I don’t jump back with shock at the sudden attack.
"You should thank your mom. They are gorgeous," I answer with a casual stab of my finger to her chest. "Get a life, you pervert," she hisses back. "Just because am alone doesn’t mean…"
"Of course you are not a hooker!" I quickly cut in, giving her a blast of my killer boyish grin and praying she’s seen my (fake) Rolex and my Italian boots.
I smile. The day is still young and I have 30 Gs, remember? With that poison she is taking, you can bet she will end up in my car in three hours, drunk.
You think am talking hogwash? The finance manager at the office thought so too. Now she’s one of six women who think am going to marry them. Life’s good!
