Cool air-conditioning danced on her irritated skin. She eyed the cheap flip-flops in her palm, paint of the white hearts peeling. She snorted and shook her head. Sensing the hawker was still standing by her Jeep, she turned to watch him through the tinted window. His dropped jaw made her quiver.
She recorded a voice note on WhatsApp and sent it to her friend, Mercy.
“Imagine. I just bought chalewote for the bastard.”
Then, she swiftly searched her recent contacts and dialled.
“I’m coming over,” she whisked and hung up, throwing the flip-flops to the backseat.