Orders are all unordered.
But the outcome was very ordered.
Each strike, contributed to me being batted out, wiped out, liquidated.
I did see it coming.
I didn’t see it coming the way it unfolded.
I pushed and pushed until I saw the real Congo Bongo.
A rebel.
A killer.
Someone who has cut off many heads.
It was both chilling and exhilarating to see him reveal his true self.
Chilling, because he wanted to cut my head, exhilarating, it certainly got my adrenaline kicking and it was a catalyst for change.
I shouldn’t hold any grudges.
It’s just that it wasn’t a clean break.
It got very messy.
But well documented by me and the police.
I had to leave.
My life was at risk.
‘Where you go?’
Heard you the first time, you fuckwit.
‘Where you go?’ Asked Bongo again.
Something in his voice that wasn’t welcoming.
Something in his voice that said, ‘I have beaten the white guy.’
The Africans are totally unknown entity.
They are loose canons waiting for any excuse to go into a Congo Bongo trance of destruction.
Their skin colour alone says something.
Their wiry hair that they are afraid to display, says something else.
I know what you were thinking, yes a toilet brush.
Providing they let their hair grow out enough life Faith does.
I’m safe for now.
Trang backed the Africans.
I don’t care that I’ve left and didn’t tell her.
She’s not my ally.
She’s an enemy.
She’ll soon find out about the Africans.
If she can’t be bothered to listen to what happened, then I can’t be bothered telling her I”m leaving.
My police friend said there was nothing she could do but keep my stuff.
There wasn’t much in the room, either.
It’s Rose who loses.
I lose too.
I just can’t go back there for now.
I need to decompress.
Seeing their black nigger faces might get me in a funk.
And there’s no knowing what I’ll do.
