LAZZO was perched on a stool by the counter at the watering facing the entrance when his mentor entered.
Somehow, he wore a worried face but proceeded to extend his hand to Lazzo as pals in the hood.
“Why are you looking so flat today as if something is amiss?,” asked Lazzo out of curiosity.
“Yah, it has been a hectic evening!,” he briefly said as he pulled a stool beside Lazzo who had been here an hour earlier.
Lazzo beckoned to the bartender to give his colleague his favourite hard drink with a mixer which was subsequently handled with versatile expertise as it flowed into the glass.
The pair got down to briefing one another on the happenings in the hood as they downed the glasses of the hard drink.
In the past, were imbibing now seems revolutionary was a dingy large room laden with drums of opaque brew.
Imbibers had to contend with low quality as they were made to sieve the drink to separate maize chaff!
This was all done after buying the drink from the counter which was straight from the drum!
There were many stories then circulating that some water was added to the celebrated drink so it could enhance some profit.
Today, this place supercedes all selling points where partakers often sat in clusters and shared one plastic mug.
According to Lazzo, this was a gigantic leap forward in social terms and was a pointer to changing times.
But many people still had queer ideas about Lazzo’s hood amid shocking developments when you even find shopping malls in the habitat.
Lazzo’s mentor reverted to his exasperating experience of the evening as he narrated how his cousin had been clobbered to a pulp by his live-in concubine.
In a drunken stupor, the cohabiting pair picked a quarrel and in the process hubby was pushed against the wall and had a bruised forehead and the second time he reeled off balance, he fell flat on his face!
This was the beginning of trouble because the man lay still on the ground unconscious.
Meanwhile, the concubine briefed Maria in the hood who advised her to concoct a clever statement which would show that the man was too drunk to stand on his own and as a result, he hit the ground.
When the concubine came to the home, the situation remained unchanged and the writing was on the wall that she had a hospital case at hand.
Outside the watering hole were an array of pirate taxis but success did not depend on the abundance of automobiles but how one in need related to the drivers.
As she was a regular member of the watering hole herself, she did not have much trouble n getting a huge discount on the ferrying of hubby to the local clinic.
It was after the drive to the health centre that the villain’s cousin was informed by phone about the mishap.
The cousin rushed to the health centre and found the beleaguered victim still in a comma.
Then a statement was given to him by the concubine and it revolved round his cousin having had countless drinks earlier and was unable balance himself.
While he had heard many accounts of imbibers of home brewed gin even losing their way home, he was perplexed that it took too long for the concubine to inform anyone.
Lazzo’s  mentor was as a matter of coincidence taken aside by one of Maria’s friends and told that she had heard a quarrel between the two two hours ago and that some people did not believe the unconscious man lost his balance due to excessive drinking.
Now Lazzo’s mentor had a full picture of the episode and unveiled it to Lazzo who equally smelt a rat.
The watering hole had got wind of what had happened and as usual patrons were debating the pros and cons of the issue.
“This is one of the dangers of sleeping in a woman’s house and calling it home because the next moment you will not know what hit  you!,” said an excited patron.
“Yes, some of these men think it is normal to live in a woman’s house as long as the going was good but sometimes when the going gets rough she may start another relationship outside her house and you will have a torrid time trying to control the situation because it is not your house!,” ranted another imbiber as more alcohol flowed.
One patron after another rolled into the watering hole and confirmed that  the knocked down man was still in a coma.
“I  have just realised that sleeping in these women’s houses is like signing your own death warrant.  As for me, I will never spend a night
at a woman’s home even when it is so reassuring!,” said one reveller sounding radical.
“In fact, sometimes when they think they no longer have use for you and you have turned out to be one who blocks them, they can organise a skirmish for you that nobody will find easy to understand, they are complicated beings!,” he declared like someone narrating a personal experience.
He further explained that some of these problems arose at night alternative plans don’t seem to work at all.
“But I think that there is just a type of men that want to cling to a woman because she works and they get money off her!,” echoed another bystander clutching a bottle of lager.
Lazzo recalled a post-independence ballad composed by a local singer simply titled: The nature of man.  The lyrics ramble on declaring: Can’t point my finger! Who is to blame?
Still Lazzo remembered another incident so famous in the hood which tallied with the notion that ‘dead men tell no tales’.
A hapless villain would hardly be there to give a correct version after a tornado had swept through.
Lazzo was tired and his mentor too and soon they reached consensus to vacate the premises…