Escapee On The Loose (Sorta)

momentsbetter, oui?Chic Like You (Feat. Allie Baba) — Raphael Saadiq

Here I sit, on the top floor in the corner room of a three story house, with garden, opposite Hackney Downs.

Chile, twern’t easy. It was both difficult and easy, but chile, meh heart ketch in meh throat like two three times before the thing was accomplished.

Don’t let me go into too many gory details, but let’s just say I got back SOME of my deposit, but not all. (Greedy motherfuckers.) The guy who called me from America last Friday night, showed up not only on time, but waaaaay ahead of time.

It was kinda dread. Last night, I ate too late and the indigestion nearly killed me. I was regurgitating until quite 3.30am this morning. The guy from America called me a 8.50am to tell me he was at Queens Park Station and ready to do the deal.

My stuff mostly moved last night, but I had a handful (ah lying it was plenty more than a handful) of things still there, and I still wanted to sweep again and mop.

But ever on the ball, I told him to give me a few minutes, and dragged myself from a thick, furry sleep and did what I could, then went down got him and did the do.

He was real nice about it too, we hung out for about two or three hours, and he went off after the deal was inked. I cleaned the place one more time, but chile when I left the things were just too heavy!

I had to get a cab, and of course, this dented me a little, but I mean by the time I got to the end of my STREET, I knew there was now way all that shit was going up and down London Transport stations stairs and then the seven minute (unweighted) walk up a slight incline to the new digs.

No, no, no. The Pakistani driver gave me all manner of chat. Declaring how he loves Jamaican women, and thick women, and that we should be friends. I was very polite, but…. you know. Don’t make me say it.

Anyway, the deed is done, and I have Internet access which as far as I am concerned is my fundamental need, next to an actual roof. This is a little sad to me, but hey, it’s my life so doan study it.

I must say too, that tonight, when I went to deal with the shitty landlord (motherfucker) I did not once cuss his money grubbing soul empty ass. So, once again good breeding and my mother and grandmother’s teachings stayed strong in my mind.

I took the two thirds of my deposit I got back, said “Thank you,” and “Good evening” and fucking exited stage left, eager to be free of the situation.

I am still kinda skint, but nowhere near as desperate and panicky as I was a week ago.

I lit a green candle dressed in Wealthy Way oil last night. It was still burning when the dude from the US showed up, bless him.

He saved my ass today… so whereever you are in London tonight (probably nursing a wicked jet lag)…. THANK YOU ANDY SHARMA.

Oh, one more thing, never, ever doubt the power of prayer. Prayer works… don’t believe these people that say it doesn’t.

Liked it? Take a second to join The Backroom Collective!
Just $1 a month can help us create safe spaces for women.

Comments

thegoddessroom

The Vault

sungoddess

mermaid, dayo's mama, water priestess, writer, web developer, omo yemoja, dos aguas, obsessive reader, sci-fi fan, trini-bajan, combermerian, second life, music, music, music!