Love. Laugh if you can, but love is a weird feeling. It could be the worst suicide attempt one could ever make back in our days.
We grew up in the hood. Unlike most of you, we had no mobile phones. If you were to fall in love back then, you just had to be a man. It’s either you wrote a letter, or you visit her and look straight into her eyes. Well, for my ego epistles were not my style. That’s until I loved the wrong daughter.
It was in the summer of ’69 when I visited my uncle in the countryside. Young and juvenile, my head was all over with beautiful girls everywhere. However, there was just this fair damsel who always watered my mouth. Her beauty was more daring than Snow White, I bet.
We first met at the local diner and I offered to pay for her coffee. She wasn’t ordinary like the average 22% who prefer the sweet side of coffee.
“I want it just like the Good 0l’ Days”, she said.
We strongly agreed on essence of the bitterness and burnt flavours of Robusta beans from Vietnam. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but this first encounter was a charmer. I wanted a next time and so did she. We had something in common, so why not?
Our meetings developed into a culture and we became each other’s addiction. I was sure that I was in love with Nicole. I wanted to love her, but she had brothers. Brothers with a reputation.
I would have told her a day before I left, but she never showed up for coffee. Surprisingly, the brothers popped up in a Rover. I regret ever falling in love that holiday. They beat the devil out of me for attempting to love a country girl with an influential father and thugs for brothers.
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