I can't believe that bitch did this to me".

"I thought that ours was a true friendship".

"On her wedding day, I was the one that hitched her white skirt over her head when she had a sudden case of the shits".

"I should have let her skidmark that fucking white dress".

"I kept her secrets and trusted that our plans and hopes for the future would materialize.

"We were in it together, we planned the perfect caper."

"Nine years of work, nine years of pandering to that geriatric bastatd>"

"Now, It is payback time".

Many thoughts go through my mind as I make my way down 14th Street. I am not surprised that I still get stares from the crack-heads, pimps and whores. Maybe they recognise me? Maybe they don't, but right now I don't give a shit. It is time to get the show on the road.

"No more miss nice bitch", got to make it known that I still have my edge.

14Th Street hasn't changed much from when I was "buy-sexual", as I used to say; "you buy and I am sexual".

The sights, smells and sounds of this place haven't changed. The train station with its boarded up windows and oppressive odour of urine clearly is still a crack den.
The dumpster right before me was the scene of my introduction to the dark side of city life. I had no idea what a cleveland steamer was until that very night, and bot what an introduction it was.

The abandoned Rialto Theater is still here, I wonder if the bug chasers still go there on a Thursday night to be infected with a heady dose of HIV. Sex shops, glory holes, porno theaters, snuff movies, rent boys, kiddie porn, She-Males, cut throats and killers. Every peccadillo is catered to on these streets, but my mission tonight is somewhat different from what the usual 14Th street straggler has in mind.

"Hey watch where the fuck you are going" . I snapped in irritation as a short fuck wearing a hat and walking with a limp bumped into me. Bastard seemed in a hurry, I guess we all have our demons that we are fighting.

I get to the bar, I don't want to be followed so I do a quick volte face, walk halfway around the block, turn around as I get closer to Clara's patch. I don't need her recognising me. As I make my way back I check my inventory; mace, condoms, a couple lines of coke, cigarettes, cuticle cream, nail polish, flick knife, .22 caliber Smith and Wesson, tampons, and her picture.

I walk in and order myself a scotch, I survey the area and inwardly smile at the memories this place evokes. I light up a cigarette and wait for him to arrive. Nine Gauloises, and three whiskeys later he comes in. We exchange a knowing glance and walks over. He lumbers towards me, and I can't not help but feel somewhat intimidated by him. He is at least six foot four but has such poor posture that at best appears four inches shorter. He is almost as broad as he it tall, his face is scarred and contorted in a permanent satanic grimace. His leather jacket was cheap and smelled like the animal it was made from, he sat down beside me and held out his caloused hand.

I hand him the picture and wait for his reaction..............

"This dame looks just like you". He said in the typical wise guy fashion.

"If you want me to whack you, it is gonna cost you extra lady, and payment upfront"

"That is my twin sister" I said ........

"Make the bitch bleed"


Late October in those parts was decidedly wintry and unfriendly. The man shivered slightly as he walked towards the intersection. He was of middling years and he carried a limp as he walked in the swirling night rain. In spite of the weather, his attire was exaggerated for the occasion. The scarf was wrapped a little too tightly, his overcoat a little too large and the deerstalker hat pulled right down to the brim. Here was a man who had made a pact with anonymity and he did not wish to renege.

It was close to midnight yet the intersection was as populous as at any other time of the day, its denizens disregarding the lateness of hour and severity of wind-chill. There was Clara at the corner, moustachioed, ragged and toothless, accosting all male passer-bys for loose cash often offering a blow job in exchange. Most people afforded her a dollar or five, not as a supreme act of charity but more as a disincentive for such a repellent offer. In a previous life Clara had been a street girl and she retained a healthy distrust for other women, often acting aggressively towards them. In her mind she still possessed the swagger and allure of her old profession; a fantasy which was a testament to the delusional effects of crack cocaine.

The busy streets suited the man’s intentions and he made his way in the direction of Meekhams the vendor. Several times he would glance around furtively hoping to avoid recognition. On approach, he searched for Davina from a distance amidst the usual throng of her species, observing them as they barracked, enticed and invited potential customers to treat. They had a secret sign. He would upturn the collar of his oversized Macintosh in a dramatic fashion as he approached and she would follow.

Her den, above Castignalio’s, was sparse, dingy and functional, respecting the need of the client and nothing more. The smell as he entered was musky and pungent, a vile combination of nicotine, spermatozoa, sweat and cheap lubricant.

‘I wish you would do something about the smell’ he said, irritatingly, as he sat on the only chair in the room.

‘Funnily enough you are about the only one who seems to give a shit’ she replied in that falsetto of hers.

‘Could you not at least air the place every now and then?’ he continued, removing his clothes as he spoke.

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. In this weather?’

‘Shut up! Take your clothes off and get over here you whore’

‘Yes sir! I do love it when you talk like that’

Dutifully she disrobed to reveal a hard, lithe body with small, disfigured silicone mounds where once there had been breasts.

‘Will it be the usual big boy?’

‘I tell you when to talk dammit. Get on your knees.’

He was not the tallest of men and even with him standing and her kneeling; the top of her head was still level with the base of his sternum. She began by licking his navel and then working her way down towards his penis.

After a few moments, he grabbed the back of her head roughly and with a handful of horse hair flung her in the direction of the bed. He was fully aroused now as he walked over to the bed and Davina had already assumed a canine position in anticipation of his next move.

The sight of that firm ass floating in the air was more than he could bear and he rammed his small cock directly into her asshole with some force. He loved anal and he felt a bit annoyed that Davina’s sphincter had lost its elasticity which meant that her anus was no longer as tight as it used to be. He would have to get himself another regular he thought to himself as he gyrated spasmodically in an awkward, arrhythmic fashion. He did not have sex regularly and he knew that he would reach climax in a few strokes. He leaned forward slightly and cupped one of Davina’s silicone mounds with his left hand. With his right, he reached underneath her flat belly and run his hands down until it reached her semi-hard cock. He ran his fingers across its length and tugged at it roughly until he ejaculated with a little scream. He lay on top of Davina for a while, his body shuddering as he continued to play with her now erect penis. It was bigger than his and he found it mildly ironic, amusing almost, that a fully-fledged man such as himself could have a smaller dick than a fucking tranny. He hated the aftermath of sex, as this was when overwhelming guilt and disgust would begin to envelope him. He would often swear privately to himself that this would be the last time.

He would then rise from the bed, often without words, dress hurriedly and throw a bundle of notes in the vague direction of Davina.

“When next big boy?’ Davina would call out hopefully. He never answered, her question lost amidst the darkness of night and the incessant rap music that blared from below.

On that wet October night, as he reinforced his disguise by wrapping the scarf fully across his face so that only his eyes were visible, he promised himself that this really would be the last time. He needed to find a way to conquer his demons and achieve tranquillity....serenity. As he started his walk towards 16th street and home, making his way past the Metro, a voice called out behind him.

‘Father Michael?’ the voice queried inquisitively. He ignored it and walked faster, his limp more pronounced.

The voice was persistent and called out again this time closer, more urgent.

He turned to see who it was and it took only a moment for him to recognise the face. It was a young girl from his congregation. She had one of those African names that he found impossible to commit to memory. How he had always dreaded such a moment and this confrontation reinforced his conviction that he must forever abandon his great sin. For now he prepared his lies, removing the guilty visage of sin and replacing it with one of sanctimony.

‘Hello Father I thought it was you. I recognise that your walk anywhere. What brings you out at this time?’

‘Ah how are you my dear daughter? So good to see you. I am just picking up my prescriptions you know. 14th street seems to be the only place that still runs a 24 hour pharmacy these days. But wait, I have not seen you for many a Sunday now. I hope nothing is the matter.’

‘I’m so sorry Father. I have been going through a really rough patch in my private life. Actually I would be very grateful if you could make some time so I could come and see you this week.’

‘Of course, of course my dear, you know my doors are always open. But what on earth are you still doing out at this hour? And in this neighbourhood? A young lady like you should not be about so late. One never knows what sort of predators and weirdoes one is likely to meet’

‘How right you are Father. How right you are’


I walked with a kind of saunter to the bar on 14th street as if I hadn’t a care in the world. For a well known street I had driven on for three years, the paved sidewalk and scenery seemed so unfamiliar. The neighborhood albeit urbanized from the corner of Serenity Avenue, still consisted of rundown residential homes and boarded houses with crack corners. In my opinion, it appeared that the people that often visited the outskirts of 14th street did so for two reasons, to drink cheap beer or to buy drugs.

I looked like the latter – a crack head junkie! Although I had already stopped crying hours ago, my mascara had run to form black rivulets down my cheeks. My clothing and hair disheveled from the one woman pity party I threw in my apartment before I decided to go to the bar, the only place I knew Toy will not look for me. It was not difficult to tell that I was distressed and skittish; showing emotions alien to my temperament. The lady who usually stood on the street begging for spare change uttered no word but instead stared me out of countenance. I could understand her reasoning, she was protecting her space. She had been there for so long that she felt she was the only one that had the right to ask people for spare change in this area. She will rather die than let another bitch curtail her dole.

At twenty eight, I am about to have my first strong drink. Although I am no virgin to alcohol, I wouldn’t call my sporadic cherry flavored drink a potent beverage. Infact, any drink mixed with sugar and lemon is hardly alcohol; I consider it spiced up orange juice designed to perk you up. The strength and courage I had to enter the bar I hated going with Toy was foreign. The place is very filthy. To an anosmatic person, the bar would seem like any other cheap bar; however, this bar stank of vomit mixed with urine and beer. The garbage in the corner was overflowing; the tables were caked in mud as if it had been stamped on by a multitude of people. The ladies restroom is frequently out of order, which means men and women would share the men’s restroom. I personally believed that the manager and his employees did this intentionally – Perverts, the whole lot of them. I just don’t understand how Toy enjoys this place?

“The usual?” came the sound behind the counter. I wasn’t sure why the bartender chose to speak to me. He usually pours the drink with a stern look and went about his business. I had often concluded that he had no personality, he was grunt and you could never catch him smile. So why did he talk to me today? Could it be that he perceived a change in my demeanor? Clearly, I wasn’t as sophisticated and guarded as I usually am, especially when I come with Toy.

“No…Amaretto sour is not strong enough to numb me. I’ll have a glass of Everclear, straight up, and yeah, keep it coming”.

His left eyebrow rose “I think grain alcohol is too much for a lady like you”

His insult, though unwitting pained me. I gave what I thought is a good retort “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think is good for me. Give me what I asked for” suddenly remembering my manners I added a faint please. I yelled at him because he vaguely reminded me of Toy’s comments. “If you don’t do this or that, I won’t marry you” I altered my attitude and molded my personality to everything I thought he wanted in a wife. I should have known the silly bastard never intended to marry me. He was already married; he has a son and another baby on the way.

Earlier in the day, I had gone over to Toy’s house, but strangely the doors were locked. He had actually changed the locks. I knocked softly, not wanting to alert the neighbors. A petite lady in adire [1]came to the door. Perplexed, I asked for Toy. She informed me pleasantly that no one by that name lived there. Just then I noticed a cute little boy- splitting image of Toy hiding behind her. I tried again but with foible stamina knowing fully well who and what I was dealing with. “May I speak to the man that lives here”?

“Folake, tani yen[2]” I heard Toy voiced

“Mi o mo. Won bere enikan ton je Toy”[3]

“Emi ni won bere. Awon kan o le pe Toyosi[4]. Who is that?”

“Toy, it is me. Who is she?”

My question was greeted with shouts of derision. Toy gave me a warning not to ever come to his house again then the warning followed with an advice “when a guy does not return your calls, gumption should tell you it is over” But before he closed his door I heard him tell her “eniti mo koko fe fi se iwe ni yen”[5]

Being a linguistics polyglot, his remark was not lost on me. I wept inconsolably on his door step for a long time.

The bartender slapped his palm on the table to get my attention then he slid the tall glass my way. As I took the first sip from my drink, I felt the ethanol in the alcohol make its way to my cell membrane; it produced a terrific buzz that I wished would last forever. I was in a state of pleasant intoxication which gave me the confidence I never knew I possessed.

In a gulp I finished the drink. My head burned, my eyesight became blurry and my movement a little delayed. I noticed a jukebox in the corner but wondered if it still worked. I gave my bag a good rummage but couldn’t find any change. Brave enough; I dipped into the tip jar for a quarter. I staggered barefooted towards the jukebox, slotted in the coin and selected Billy Holiday’s “Baby Get Lost”. It played alongside the loud obnoxious rap from the radio. The bartender noticed the sound conflict but did not bother to turn the radio off.

I started dancing, then twirling like a thread on a spindle. I felt the heat in my stomach rise up and pass through my lungs and it came out of my mouth as laughter.

I laughed myself into the state of tranquility… serenity. I was aware everyone in the bar stared, but couldn’t care. I had devoted myself to him for three years and nothing to show for it. My laughter grew louder as I remembered my act of vengeance. I had let out the air in his four tires, then brought out my keys and scribbled words of profanity all over his car. My emergency Swiss knife did what it did best – I used it to cut through the leathery roof. For the grand finale, I picked up a stone and threw it at the windshield then proceeded to do the same to the side mirrors and navigation system. He deserved it. Toy had worked overtime for three years to buy his BMW M6 convertible and it took me just half an hour to destroy everything.

We are not even until I demolish all he has worked for in his life.

[1] Tie and Dye cloth
[2] Folake, who is that?
[3] I don’t know. She is looking for someone named Toy
[4] That’s me. Some people can’t pronounce Toyosi
[5] She is the one I wanted to use for my immigration papers

14th and Serenity


The Line Up

Let the countdown begin.

Monday 26th May: Allied

Wednesday 28th May: Atutu

Friday 30th May: B

Sunday 1st June: Catwalq & Guest

Tuesday 3rd June: Overwhelmed

Thursday 5th June: Jaja

Saturday 7th June: Rayo

Monday 9th June: Kiibaati

Wednesday 11th June: Solomonsydelle

Friday 13th June:Naapali

Sunday 15th June: Waffarian

and closing out the show,

Tuesday 17th June: UK Naija.





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