I down my last shot of vodka and slam the fifty cents on the table. I’m tired of this crazy drinking game.
I eyeball Silas and Mondli. There are four of them now. They grin at me as I try to focus. They say I’ve past my first test – I drink like a pirate from Somalia. They must get me home before my ship sinks.
We pile into the Jub-Jub and Silas opens the car window – in case I want to breathe. I tell Mondli he shouldn’t be driving. He says it’s not far, he’ll keep one eye open and let Silas steer.
‘No, we mustn’t,’ I tell Silas.
But he says shuddup and get in the car.
We are three blocks from my ouledi’s place when Silas shouts stop. Two cop cars are perched on the side of the road. ‘Crap,’ says Mondli, throwing a fierce U-turn.
Oncoming traffic hoots and the wheels of the Mini Cooper screech like a bunch of girls. I see the blue siren flashing behind us and I put my head between my legs as Mondli drives like the devil.
Image: Steve Vosloo, CC-BY-SA-2.0