I'm not one to drink alone. I find those who drink alone despondent and in need of a hug. Just sitting there, in a bar, drinking and smoking and looking at nothing. Maybe thinking of thoughts that aren’t very healthy, like running triathlons.
Last week, I went up to Unseen Nairobi on 623 Wood Avenue because I was in the neighbourhood, and traffic on Argwings Kodhek was nightmarish. I was alone.
Unseen is some sort of arthouse that has a cinema and a rooftop bar and restaurant. Obviously, I went there because I figured there would be zero chance of running into anyone I knew.
The people I know don't frequent places that show independent movies and documentaries and feature a lot of expat types who smoke and drink beers and the arty types with their inexplicable clothing and hairstyles.
I wanted quiet and I found it there. I settled in a corner and ordered a bourbon. Being a Friday it was pretty busy. A girl with very long legs and a very short dress sat next to me and lit a cigarette. It felt like we were in Paris, everybody was thin and smoking.
To sit and drink alone is to muster great interest in yourself. I intentionally ignored my phone and tried to practice being in the moment, emptying my thoughts and pretending I was a Buddha.
At dusk, when I was on my second double, the city looked deceptively exciting, like we didn't have many problems and poverty didn't reign, and everybody cared about the fate of the working man.
It gets cold up there. Wind sneaks through the gaps of glass and slices through your body. Thankfully, they offer Maasai shukas. I wrapped one around my shoulders and wished I was a smoker. I think I'd make a very showy smoker. I'd make a big production of lighting the cigarette, tapping off the dead ashes.
To drink alone is boring, I accepted later on when I started feeling lonesome. I considered going into the cinema to watch a movie, but I was tipsy and wouldn't follow a plotline if it was written by a child. So I went home, proving my opening theory right.
