Long Street

You know you’re getting older when you only get invited to parties where every woman has a man (or act like they have) and there’s food. It was at a do like this, where the host had taken the trouble of laying down the snacks, that the following exchange between two men who had obviously come here solely to be fed, took place.

Man 1: (evidently the more socially enthusiastic and attention seeking of the pair) “Of course I’ve been to Cape Town.”

Man 2: (staring at his plate) “Where in Cape Town”

Man 1: “I can’t remember for sure but its name starts with fish or something”

Man 2: “Fishoek”?

Man 1: (seizing the chance to act like a seasoned traveller) “Yes Fishoek. There’s this street in the city center, I forgot the name but it’s really long and gets very busy at night. Man, I’d never had so much fun. It’s club after club but my favourite was the one called Johannesburg. There, the girls are always in good mood to talk. They wank you off before you’ve uttered a word. It’s like you’re overseas in New York or something.“

The temperature of the room dropped and Man 2 froze mid-mouthing as though choked by the potato on his almost polished paper plate.

Man 2: (having crammed enough food into his mouth to absolve himself from fully responding) “Mmmhm?”

Man 1: (oblivious) “I scored a chick on my first night there my man. Easy.”

He looked around the room as if to continue the debate but everyone was fixated on the beers/plates.

Man 1: (moving towards the kitchen) “Anyone for a toothpick?”

No one responded.

Khaya



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