It was ordinary for Gibson to nap in front of the world, especially after an acid morning carting coconuts to his top customers’ eateries. That day, he reckoned he had spent enough time scrapping for lane space and losing momentum in potholes. So he wheeled his mkokoteni over to the dusty rubbly edge of the construction site he went to on Tuesdays. Gibson liked being near Development, and even though iron sheets kept its broad legs out of view, the sound of it welding and pounding lulled him to sleep.
Excerpt from a piece by Diana Nyaki