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It’s holiday time, but don’t go ‘eating’ high school girls

One Sunday, last semester: after a week of swallowing antibiotics, the dose ended. I rushed to the wines duka and ordered the most toxic quarter bottle of affordable whisky.

Minutes later, tipsy like a nosy fish, I sauntered to the hostel tunefully whistling wanyaboro wanyaboro wanyaboro, behaving like my bank was otuch, yelling exaggerated goodwill greetings to the janitors and any Dick and Dorothy on the hallway.

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