It’s a lonely night in a big empty house. The occasional green glow of a solitary firefly is all that can be seen out the window across into the dark yard. An old dusty curtain hanging across the open back door is the only barrier between the damp outside and the unfriendly yellow glow of the bare light bulb inside. Besides the occasional cool breeze gently disturbing the curtain on it’s way into the room, all that can be heard is the soft typing on the laptop keyboard, the occasional buzz of a mosquito searching for a meal, and the mysterious creaking of the wicker furniture.
A brisk knock at the front door bounces through the rooms’ hard polished concrete floors and bare concrete walls.
“Hello?! Who is it?”
A quick trip across the kitchen to the front of the house. Open the door.
No one there but the damp outside; better lock-up for the night. It’s getting late and almost time to wrap up working anyway. Turn the key, slide the dead bolts across, one last nervous peak out the front window.
Now a knock at the back door.
A trip back across the kitchen, and another peak outside. No one but the crickets and the gentle stream tumbling over the rocks down the hill.
Better lock up here too…
Sit back down in front of the laptop, put some music on to break the creepy silence. A funky groovy beat starts off the playlist. Maybe a little late night jam session will cure the heeby-jeebies.
I hop out of my seat, and slide across the floor in my socks to the beat. Let me just grab my shoes by the back door here…
“AHH! *$%#!! My shoes are gone!”
“Some crafty bastards stole my shoes!! and right from under my nose!”
No one likes being robbed, it really sucks. It sucks even more when you know it was pre-meditated, when you know people know where the white guy lives. Doesn’t exactly make you feel the friendly pulse of “the warm heart of africa”.
But as they say here , “it’s part of life”, and once again I’ll learn to be more careful about where I leave my stuff. Even my old worn out shoes.