In the many pages of the book of love this is only one story.
“You know what they say about free health care. It costs money.”
No one in Lagos slouches. Bravado pulsates through the room.
It was the sixties, and I was in college and incredibly restless.
“I wish my father was alive to see how lazy I could really be.”
Paharganj reels with beggars. Old women, boys, breast-feeding girls.
“Stop looking at women’s magazines and call me in the morning.”