more of the same from derek davey
What to say this time? Another gun shoved in my face, right outside my door. This time I was just so pissed off I started shouting, instead of co-operating. Unfazed, the gunman ran into my house and stole a cellphone before he disappeared.
We have no idea how he got into the property, which is surrounded by razor wire. Or how he got out. Or why the dog didn’t even budge. Perhaps black magic indeed surrounded the mystery man.
If his gun had been loaded, he would have surely shot me. But I’ve had enough of lying down for these guys. And so have the neighbours, who ranted and screamed at the totally useless cops when they finally arrived 20 minutes later. So has my landlord, who first put in razor wire, and is now belatedly putting in electric fencing.
“Perhaps you should shoot them,” commented one cop. It’s a tempting thought.
So now I have to move. I have to give way to these chancers, leave my own home. To find somewhere “safer”. This much is clear. My woman is beside herself, and I cannot blame her at all. What is not clear is, where is a safer place? I cannot live in a flat, as I am a drummer. Do I need a guard on 24-hour duty outside my window, because I want to live in a house? I refuse to be a victim. I refuse to be robbed again. I am at a loss about what to do next. This must be getting really boring for readers to read about. I think I must consult a sangoma …
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