He gets stranded in a new city in the morning, meets new friends by noon, chats them till evening, they desert him by night: Their mothers would beat them and send them out of the house, into the night if they returned home with a total stranger.
He takes a walk to the tea-stand, he gulps down two cups, and walks out to a restaurant. He buys a plate of weird food he cannot finish. He pays and tells the manager, “Have anyone sleeping here for you, Missus?” “No, I don’t want anyone sleeping for me.” “I insist, I will.” “Okay, you will.” She gathers everything ─pots, baskets, bowls, plates, cutlery, and jerry-cans─ into a bundle, and sets to leave. “Hey, Missus, you carry everything, what I sleeping here for?” “You, know that.” “I’s not sleeping where ain’t nothing, Missus,” he curses, loudly. She asks him to repeat what he said. He reluctantly does. She says they share a tribe, invites him back into the restaurant and unfolds a bed for him.
A text message comes in “Oga is back. Resume work tomorrow”. A lorry blares, “Garin Bala stret! Garin Bala, no kwana!”
He picks his bag, “Missus, you’s such a bad name.”