He hums ‘All for You’ while I tap to the claves on the steering wheel. I speed down the M23, connect to the M25 to get back to Edmonton, North London. We stay this way, exchanging our silences with high-life rhythms.
Nana Offrata clears his throat and, instinctively, I lower the volume.
He twists his gold rings. The sound of moist flesh rubbing against metal captures his awkwardness, my anger. He spoke of wars, philosophies, the kingdoms, his chiefdom, the corruption of government. I focus on the motorway, its stretches of black tar deluding my ability to see its end.