.....the alter-ego


He looks through steady cold eyes, the misty breath expelled from his lips, contrasts the warmth of the hot lagos afternoon.

He strikes his lighter, as he smokes the cancer sticks in a fast paced chain, non plussed & not in a hurry. He puffs,…..& inhales, as he lets the smoke hit his brain,…..sharp, stinging, painful,…..sweet. His eyes are fast turning red, but the chain doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. He uses the butt of the last expiring cigar, to light the next 1,already fixed between thin lips, as he drags.

He uses his coarse hand to run across his rough face. Lacerated, battered, & disvirgined. A closer look could tell that once upon a time, this used to be a handsome face, but in the line of work of his, beauty is an unecessary distraction, which erodes steadily.

He hasn’t looked in the mirror in months,…..so he turns round, & looks in the shattered window behind him, & sees a face he barely recognizes. He’s a monster, …….he smiles & walks on into the night & he disappears into the dark recesses of my mind.

He is Aguba.

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