[Swordfish941]

Another passage:

Greg finished the rest of his Pepsi and went into the living room. He turned on the television and began to watch a news program. It began to talk about civil unrest in Chile caused by Marxist sympathizers. He was uninterested in that. It than began to talk about the activities of Al-Shabaab militant group in southern Somalia. They have taken over Mogadishu, the former capital of Somalia (the capital was now located in Hargeisa). They enforced a strict interpretation of the Sharia law, and anybody who broke this law was either stoned or executed in the street.

Greg had been apathetic to the troubles in the Middle East when he was growing up. To him, it was just the Crusades with tanks and machine guns. But this had caught his attention. This wasn’t the LRA or any other militant groups he had fought. These were radicals. He expected Somalia to be controlled by Pirates, but he had never expected radicals to be a problem in Somalia.

Kristi came out of the bedroom when the news program was over. Greg gave her an additional one hundred rand and sent her out. Rocco soon came out after in a t-shirt and a pair of jockey shorts.

“How was it?”

“It was pretty good.”

“There’s nothing like a good pomp to get you back on your feet.”

“I know what you mean. Do you know what’s better than sex?”

“What?”

“Grass.”

“That’s a load of kak.”

“Haven’t you ever tried it? It sends you straight to the moon and back again. It’s a better way to past the time than what you do.”

“I’m content with what I do.”

“You smoke cigarettes and listen to David Buoy.”

“His name is Bowie.”

“Whatever. I’m just saying that you need to be a little more open minded.”
Greg pondered on this thought for a moment and then made up his mind.

“Alright, if it’ll get you off my back. And if I have a bad trip, I’m tearing you a new arse.”

Greg looked out the window and tapped his fingers along the arm of the couch while Rocco set the pipe up. He just wanted to get this over with and get on with his life. Rocco handed him the hose and he inhaled. He suddenly coughed out large puffs of smoke and lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“You sure you don’t want some?” Johnny asked Katie, offering her some of his lunch. They were having lunch at an eatery in Fish Hoek bay. Johnny was wearing a t-shirt showing his favorite rugby team, the Vodacom Blue Bulls. He was having falafel in pita bread with tahini sauce with a bottle of Castle Lager beer. She was having two hamburgers with chips and a cherry cola.

“I don’t even know what’s in there.”

“Fried balls made from chickpeas and a paste made from sesame seeds, all stuffed in a round pocket bread.”

“I’m fine with what I have, but thank you.” She said thanking a bite out of her second hamburger.

“How can someone so small scarf down all that food?”

“Johnny, I’ve been stuck on a boat with nothing but process food to eat.”

Johnny took another sip of his beer and asked her another question.

“How are things going with Greg?”

“It’s doing pretty good. We’re in a healthy relationship.”

“Have you been getting some?”

“Occasionally.”

“Well, I’ve had a fling every now and then.”