My friend Kobe has been around. Back in the day, he’d start his Friday night at Purple pub in Osu, where the booze was strong and cheap. He never stayed for longer than an hour, the real fun was elsewhere. He’d grind a little at Aphro, move to Boom, then return to Citizen Kofi in Osu. It was a summary of loud tracks, kaleidoscopic lights, cloud-smoke air, bare-clad women plus excess booze and loose morals. Sometimes, he’d go to Epo’s further down the road hungry. Their food and booze was much cheaper than in the clubs and they stayed open till dawn. That was usually the last point of call till he picked a drop home, all the way in Adenta. If he picked up a girl or a hooker (there’s usually little difference at that time of the night, at those places) he checked into the Blue Gate hotel or little Tokyo lodge and let lust reign.
But that was then. Now, he’s in the choir at his church. I call him the leashed beast and tease him about the havoc he could wreck in that small church choir if he should ever relapse. He tells me a lot about his past. I can tell he enjoys it because I’m always, always amazed. My pupils dilate, my lips part, my body leans in, like an enthralled kid hearing about ‘Madam Red High Heels’ for the very first time. Last week, he told me a story. It shook me. Read More The Drunken Husband.