In Summary
  • Exe had on a small dress that pushed her breasts all the way up to her chin.
  • She looked great, I will admit, even though I’m hardly ever moved by cleavage and such things.

I met a celebrity. I was at a club, going to the bathroom, crossing through the main bar, when someone called out my name me over the thudding music: “Bikoooo!”

Now, I will admit that there are a few Bikos in this city but I figured, what are the odds one of the other Bikos would be going to the bathroom at the same time as me?

So I looked around and I saw, over the bobbing heads, this old acquaintance leaning against the bar, with a celebrity hanging onto his elbow.

Blue light from the bulb above them fell on his crown and he glowed like the Milky Way.

I tried to part the crowd like the Red Sea to get to him and when that didn’t happen, I elbowed my way to the bar, pushing aside bodies frothing with hedonism.

At the counter we hugged that shoulder hug men do, and I told him that his head reminded me of the Milky Way.

He said, “My God, I last heard of that was in primary school! Hey listen, meet Exe.” (Not the unga ngano. I just don’t feel like writing ‘X’.)

Exe had on a small dress that pushed her breasts all the way up to her chin. She looked great, I will admit, even though I’m hardly ever moved by cleavage and such things.

I must have looked like the manager from the way she shook my hand. She extended the tips of her fingers for me to shake and when our fingers connected, hers felt as limp as strips of carrots that had been soaked in vinegar overnight.

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