My next door neighbour recently asked me when I’d hang up my boots, that is, wave goodbye to the game and perhaps consider settling down with a beautiful bird I love, as over the years, he’s met several birds coming and going into my house and life.
The question struck me deeply, but having been under the influence of at least two criminalised substances, I gave him a banal excuse.
Later, I gave the question some keen thought and came to two conclusions for his question—I’d retire if:
- At least two women fought for me in the stairwells, in a chaotic drama that would hopefully include the pulling of hair, the exchange of slurs, and the eventual intervention of professional security personnel.
- One of my lovers keyed my gorgeous Adhis for any reason whatsoever.
I then reflected on these conclusions and wondered why I’d settle on such narcissistic outcomes.
After much rumination, I found that the two wantings were because, in my pursuits of fleshly indulgence, the dramatic, vicious gal is the type that I hadn’t yet encountered. After all the soft girls and safe flings, what I’ve never truly experienced is the histrionic woman whose love is like a turbulent storm. I crave that final boss.
As someone committed to the game, I considered my wantings noble.
