There is a samosa at Java that goes for 390 bob. You look at the price and wonder what the samosa has that makes its cost similar to your electricity bill. You flip the menu, trying to ignore it, but then you come back again and wonder why a samosa should be priced the same as five blouses at Toi Market?
Perhaps it comes with the powers that keep you from drunk dialing your ex. Or it has the soberness that makes you file your taxes on time. It must have a syrup that keeps you away from your neighbor's business and makes you focus on your goals.
You flip the menu again and stare at the pages without really seeing them. Your mind is somewhere else. Itβs on that samosa. Three hundred and ninety bob? For a triangular blob of flour? Come on, kwani it shops at Quickmart and reads Business Daily?
You go back to it, and it gives you a smug look. βYou canβt afford me, can you?β You can hear it toying with you. You decide to teach its snobbery a lesson by making it swim with your gastric juices, and you order it.
It fills up the plate it comes on. On the side, a lemon. You squeeze it, pick up the fork and knife that come with another plate, and as you start digging in, you can feel your goals coming into focus. You can also feel something else. Itβs your electricity bill screaming. βYouβre going to eat your noodles in the dark.β