banana peel, and he wasn’t even put out. Wouldn’t be surprising if women no longer registered his presence, either.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ he ventured to passing potential, endless legs in a snug pair of jeans.
‘Fuck off.’ The girl eyed him up and down with lazy nastiness and swayed on.
Too young, anyway. Her hips dipped just a touch in his direction, though, he was sure of it. He pushed off the bonnet of the Jeep Cherokee, took a step in the direction of the supermarket, instantly concluded it was a bad idea. He would be eaten alive. He leaned back again. Five more minutes and that was it.
A solitary figure across the street caught his eye. A familiar outline loitered near the display window of an electronics store, watching Celine Dion in concert on a dozen stacked TV screens. Joshua hesitated, smoothed his hair down best he could and stepped off the curb, right into a tree trunk of a chest.
‘How much per hour?’ the guy in his way said, frowning.
‘Uh …’
‘Parking.’ The man pointed to his car and dug through his pockets. ‘How much?’
‘Oh,’ Joshua said. The man, stout and fair-haired, was a good two heads shorter, compensating with the brand of bravado that Joshua had come to expect from Mzansi’s paler citizens. Joshuashrugged. ‘Ten bucks … rand. Ten rand. Twenty if you take longer than half an hour.’ He was acclimated to this shit. The Mother City played a remorseless game of favourites, cosseting some of her children and abusing others, a reality inescapable unless one chose to ignore it. This was hardly the first time some random had assumed he was a car guard, or a janitor, or a waiter, going on nothing more than skin colour. Might as well make some money off it. The man made a big show of his surprise before he paid up, muttering about the country going to the dogs as he walked off.
‘Please man, some money for food.’
Joshua dropped his eyes, further down this time. A street kid, a skinny little thing in an oversized, battered tracksuit top and shorts – too short for a Cape Town winter, however mild Joshua considered it – stared a challenge up at him. The kid’s eyes skimmed over Joshua’s tatty attire, sizing up both his rank as a fellow homeless person and right to any money changing hands on that turf.
‘Listen, kid, I scammed this money fair and square,’ Joshua teased. ‘How ’bout we split it?’
‘ Ten rand? ’ The boy snorted. ‘And that’s yours.’ He pointed accusingly at the gleaming Jeep and then thrust out his hand. ‘I saw you park.’
Joshua chuckled and handed over the note. ‘Here’s a bonus.’ He pushed a KFC box with an unfinished three-piece meal in it at the boy. ‘You need it more than I do.’
He struggled to keep himself from breaking into a run as he crossed the road. On the other side, Celine Dion’s rapt audiencehadn’t moved, a bulging plastic bag of shopping clutched in her hand. His heart was going way too fast for half a minute’s exertion, but that much was out of his control. He searched his mind for the perfect, coolest opener and the best he came up with was: ‘I’ve asked you to stop following me around. I’m never gonna crack and sleep with you.’
The woman turned, and a huge smile lifted the most inviting mouth Joshua had ever pressed against his own.
‘Joshua Allen! I do declare,’ Voinjama Johnson rolled her eyes. ‘You always know how to ruin my day with your presence.’
‘V. J.’
She was competition, tall for a girl – a jibe she always hissed at. Joshua dragged her into a hug and she laughed and pretended to struggle, while he surreptitiously revelled in the smell of her hair and neck. A waft of baby soap, vanilla and something feminine and bespoke filled his nose, setting off an ooze of warmth under his breastbone. His arms made quick study through her navy pantsuit. She wasn’t back to her usual weight since the surgery but she looked a lot more solid than she had when they’d last met.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ he ventured to passing potential, endless legs in a snug pair of jeans.
‘Fuck off.’ The girl eyed him up and down with lazy nastiness and swayed on.
Too young, anyway. Her hips dipped just a touch in his direction, though, he was sure of it. He pushed off the bonnet of the Jeep Cherokee, took a step in the direction of the supermarket, instantly concluded it was a bad idea. He would be eaten alive. He leaned back again. Five more minutes and that was it.
A solitary figure across the street caught his eye. A familiar outline loitered near the display window of an electronics store, watching Celine Dion in concert on a dozen stacked TV screens. Joshua hesitated, smoothed his hair down best he could and stepped off the curb, right into a tree trunk of a chest.
‘How much per hour?’ the guy in his way said, frowning.
‘Uh …’
‘Parking.’ The man pointed to his car and dug through his pockets. ‘How much?’
‘Oh,’ Joshua said. The man, stout and fair-haired, was a good two heads shorter, compensating with the brand of bravado that Joshua had come to expect from Mzansi’s paler citizens. Joshuashrugged. ‘Ten bucks … rand. Ten rand. Twenty if you take longer than half an hour.’ He was acclimated to this shit. The Mother City played a remorseless game of favourites, cosseting some of her children and abusing others, a reality inescapable unless one chose to ignore it. This was hardly the first time some random had assumed he was a car guard, or a janitor, or a waiter, going on nothing more than skin colour. Might as well make some money off it. The man made a big show of his surprise before he paid up, muttering about the country going to the dogs as he walked off.
‘Please man, some money for food.’
Joshua dropped his eyes, further down this time. A street kid, a skinny little thing in an oversized, battered tracksuit top and shorts – too short for a Cape Town winter, however mild Joshua considered it – stared a challenge up at him. The kid’s eyes skimmed over Joshua’s tatty attire, sizing up both his rank as a fellow homeless person and right to any money changing hands on that turf.
‘Listen, kid, I scammed this money fair and square,’ Joshua teased. ‘How ’bout we split it?’
‘ Ten rand? ’ The boy snorted. ‘And that’s yours.’ He pointed accusingly at the gleaming Jeep and then thrust out his hand. ‘I saw you park.’
Joshua chuckled and handed over the note. ‘Here’s a bonus.’ He pushed a KFC box with an unfinished three-piece meal in it at the boy. ‘You need it more than I do.’
He struggled to keep himself from breaking into a run as he crossed the road. On the other side, Celine Dion’s rapt audiencehadn’t moved, a bulging plastic bag of shopping clutched in her hand. His heart was going way too fast for half a minute’s exertion, but that much was out of his control. He searched his mind for the perfect, coolest opener and the best he came up with was: ‘I’ve asked you to stop following me around. I’m never gonna crack and sleep with you.’
The woman turned, and a huge smile lifted the most inviting mouth Joshua had ever pressed against his own.
‘Joshua Allen! I do declare,’ Voinjama Johnson rolled her eyes. ‘You always know how to ruin my day with your presence.’
‘V. J.’
She was competition, tall for a girl – a jibe she always hissed at. Joshua dragged her into a hug and she laughed and pretended to struggle, while he surreptitiously revelled in the smell of her hair and neck. A waft of baby soap, vanilla and something feminine and bespoke filled his nose, setting off an ooze of warmth under his breastbone. His arms made quick study through her navy pantsuit. She wasn’t back to her usual weight since the surgery but she looked a lot more solid than she had when they’d last met.
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