Men. Many of them, gripping their sticks. Leaning on their sticks. Pointing with their sticks. Thinking. Strategising. Trying to do what men have done for centuries; to outmaneuver other men, to win over them, so that they can feel whatever men feel when men beat other men.
Which is nothing shameful, but something that nature intended. Because the weak will be driven off, a natural law of selection. Only this is the pool tables over at Mchana Pub and Grill over at Meky Place, Ngong Road.
This is the home of pool games. Many pool tables, and many men with sticks and power between their thumbs and index finger.
I reference to men here because the girls who were present were seated at the edges, watching the proceedings and you know what happens when women watch men duel, it becomes almost personal.
We sat inside at the counter with my friend. The barman looked familiar. “Did you used to come to Kiza?” He asked, trying to determine where we met. I told him I went to Kiza thrice in my life. “Did you bartend at Caribana Bar?” I asked him. He said no.
The deejay was something else. Like a god sent down with a bagful of astonishing old-school music. Jam after jam was simply a treat down memory lane. I sent him a beer, an ode to his talent.
All the furniture of the bar, my pal told me, was from Mercury Lounge and had closed down at Junction Mall. Makes sense. I could have sworn the green lounge seats looked familiar.
Mchana, which means daytime, is an irony. It’s a local that also feels like a lounge. Or a local aspiring to be a lounge but has accepted to be a local. I liked it the way it was.
In the next room, men hit balls with sticks and grimaced. Losers were swept to the side to think about their mistakes. “Did you ever come to Slim's Bar?” The barman asked and I snapped my finger, “That’s where I used to see you!” I shrieked.
