#StoroSosa is a series of short bite-sized snippets, inspired by my nosy eavesdropping, as I weave stories through smoke rings.
There is no perk to his belly, instead it dangles low, over his trousers like loose skin.
The other guy has a blingy gold watch, the type sold by peddlers on Uhuru Highway who sell shiny fakes as they size up the re-sale value of the watch on your wrist.
The conversation takes place in Swahili.
‘This hotel is too expensive bana, I need to find a place that will work’
‘How many stars?’
‘What do you mean stars?’
I imagine the man is looking for a hideaway, a love nest for a night’s tryst with a girl he is trying to impress. A girl who probably knows what stars are.
‘I need somewhere decent, somewhere that is self-contained’
I try not to interrupt. Experience has taught me no place that is decent ever advertises its contained status – self or otherwise.
‘Like Kenya Comfort Hotel?’
‘Yeah. I don’t know. Yaani somewhere they give you a towel and slippers’.
I instantly feel nervous for the girl, and hope the guy is really good in bed.
Finished, I walk away, leaving a ring of Ruby Woo on the edge of the now stubbed out butt. They never noticed I was there.