A cold night in Uganda is hotter than winter back home. I’m sitting in a corner of an old bar, drinking grape soda from a bottle. The sugar attracts the mosquitoes to my table. The only other people in the bar are the three guys near the entrance.
“Anything to eat, bwana?” the bartender asks.
“Just another one of these,” I say. “Then the check.”
The soda is piss warm, but I drink it anyway. The guys at the table continue to laugh. I look back at them, and they pretend they are not looking at me.
“Good evening.”
The man by my side is a mix of Indian and black. Big black eyes, dark hair, and a well made nose. “I thought you might want some company.”
It was hard not to smile back when he looked at me like this. “I was on my way to my hotel.”
“No hotels around here, sir. Do you need company?”
His lips are thick and his teeth too white to be real. “Do you live nearby?”
“I might. Pay me a drink.”
He orders a beer and I get my soda. We finish it in silence. “Take the first left then the third right. I’ll go first.”
It’s quite a sight, him walking away. Then I notice those three guys have left without paying the check. The bartender is sweating. Instead of left I take right. This is no place for me to die.
Matt Ferraz is a Brazilian author with works released in English, Portuguese, Italian, and Spanish. His most successful creation is Grandma Bertha, an old lady who solves crimes in her spare time. Matt also works as a professional ghostwriter and memoir writing lecturer.