For the stories you live through but never stop long enough to wonder at.
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Then it surely would be a chill location for male folk whose advances have been spurned. Well, Okon did not subscribe to that school of thought. He could not say for sure, but it looked as though she was laughing at him. Him, Okon! He rippled his muscles and looked her frail form over with disdain. This green jeans lady should have been quaking and not snide-ing. So, he moved his machete a little into open view. And with a fresh burst of determination he demanded she give him her cell number. This was getting to be very uncool - the macho man antics of this local dude. Besides her name, he also wanted to know where she lived, what she did and other items that were none of his business. All she wanted was to step into the fruit market close to the trailer park to get some fresh lemons for her facial scrub recipe. So, she flashed him the polite smile again, and said NO can do. And that's when he let his temper fly. 'You refuse to give me your phone number?', he asked roughly. She looked at him with raised right eyebrow, really looked at him. And then, the lady with the green jeans turned away and dodged fast moving cars as she crossed over the busy main road to the other side. Once she decided she had had enough, she stopped engaging with her accoster and opted to travel a meandering route. That brought the day's adventure to a more than abrupt close.
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He was going to be a major pest on a scorching week day afternoon, thought the lady in green jeans. Observing his fresh, pushy attitude she added a second thought, 'And I bet he has never even studied the letters S-T-A-L-K-E-R'. He looked like a hard worker, smelled of not quite fresh sweat. And what in the heavens was that object beneath his left arm? Okon kept up with his rambles. 'I am Okon, and I want us to be good friends. What is your name?'. Smiling politely with closed lips, the lady in green jeans gave her name once. Then twice. Eventually, she had to spell it. As he bungled through pronouncing the mere three syllables to her name, he persisted. 'Can we become close friends?'. Now, if it had been some fancy bloke she had met at some stuck-up law dinner would she feel so hesitant? She thought not. But then, if that had been the case, there would at least be one or two mutually interesting conversation topics they would exhaust. Before she got bored. She really was in a hurry and had no throw-away time. The price to pay for enjoying a brisk, refreshing walk on the streets of Port Harcourt is obviously a lively ten minute period bandying words with any and everyone scurrying along the same streets as you. This 'Okon' character sported a medium-length machete under his left arm. Its newspaper-sheath failed to completely conceal the blade of an obvious weapon, or farm implement - depending on which angle you viewed this scenario from. The day's tasks called for this random detour to the fresh fruit and veg market and no adventures with a blade-wielder.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single lady in possession of a good income and a sense of purpose, must be in desperate pursuit of any man. That line must have been running through Okon's mind that sunny afternoon, when he bumped into the lady at the street crossing. She had a khaki satchel slung across her shoulder as she walked ahead with a sense of purpose. And kept up a pace quite unlike the usual laid-back pedestrian stroll. It was that walk that caught his attention. It made the green jean fabric ripple at the end, and also called attention to the well-toned arms emphasised by the sleeveless vest she wore. Okon whistled his, 'Time to get lucky' song as he adopted his game-on swagger as he struggled to catch up with his most recent eye magnet. 'Hi, I like you', he said eagerly, by way of greeting. So she took his measure, in one amused glance, but responded all the same. She sounded cultured and pampered and that was all the encouragement Okon needed. She would be an easy mark.
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