It is that time again when I am behind schedule. When I have not written in two weeks and I still want to be paid 300 by AdSense which now seems like a pipe dream. I keep pushing though, hoping my 300 hundred will still come through. Not soon that I know but eventually. Because I am a boring person doing boring things, I only have boring things to write about.  I dont do boring though and thats why I dont write often. I need to live dangerously or at least do things that are worth what I think I stand for or what I think this blog is about.  Before that though, I landed on this post I wrote a million years ago.

Still fresh...

He held the cup of tea with both hands, his hands were shaking but he held still and took large gulps. The tea was well prepared; more milk less water perfect tea a little bit more sugar hmm! He was dressed in rags and sat here on the fifth floor of the tallest and most elegant building in Tumaini city drinking tea; the other boys made jokes and laughed, he laughed too but he didn't get the jokes. He had become a zombie these last days.

       After carrying 21 bags of cement up the fifth floor on an empty stomach that had only been entertained by a piece of cold cornmeal the previous night he wouldn't help but shake when a mug of tea came his way. This tea was his only hope of anything in his stomach that day. He had a life to live but living was being hard, now it is surprising how he had survived three months without pay until recently when things got out of hand. He had lost count of the number of times the landlord had been calling it was the third month with empty promises and now he was threatening to throw him out, had he not bribed the electricity official who came to disconnect his line,  Nyabuto would be living in the dark.

           How life changes, he thought. After everything this is the life fate gave him? He deserved better if not the best. Struggling to get basic needs was a blow right to his face but man must live no matter what. They all marveled at how great this structure was, owned by a man and Nyabuto, a man too was here here drinking tea that he would not even afford buying he had to wait for the staffs to drink to their satisfaction then the rest was for him and his kind.

      He felt helpless like a chained dog with meat beyond the chain's radius, so close yet so far from his dreams. Dreams he dreamt day and night, ideas he had inside his mind, and they were multinational companies. He was a billionaire but dressed in rags, cracked hands destroyed by mixing cement and sand, looking white when he was actually black. He was a billionaire in his mind and that fact made him shed a tear knowing that he might die with not even owning a bicycle let alone the black Range Rover sports he dreamt about.

          He knew what he wanted but getting it was the deal. How would he ever start a hawking business let alone a multinational company??  His peanut salary was only enough to feed his now rumbling stomach, savings was a Greek word he heard when he had money to pay for TV and that was a long time ago. A bank loan; that too was a phrase he heard in a certain advertisement about how banks listen to their clients. But one has to have a good statement and that meant a good job and a good job meant good education and good connections too, he never had any of that.

       He looked out on the window and saw how this town had grown a new building here and there, cars creating traffic men owned things man.  He opened the window wide and looked at the beautiful Tumaini town life was beautiful but only for those that could afford the beauty. Not for the "billionaires in mind but for the real life billionaires. 

    They gathered in groups and discussed how he had died soon; some said they saw him jump out of the tallest building in Tumaini city. The other boys watched in tears as the police took his lifeless body away from the scene.

Yeah, I know what you are thinking. Did he have to die? And yes he had to die because we all want to think and pretend suicide is not a thing.