Hymn of Vengeance VIII

There were so many people; by the roadside, in the shops, going to and fro on bikes, in cars and in Kekes. I was surprised because a few minutes before, the road had been desolate.
Now there were so many people I wondered how Kass was in the daytime.
Jesse said,

“Like ants they work all day
So hard, they were appearing diurnal.
But at night are they gone? Nay!
They don’t sleep, they’re nocturnal.

I was quite puzzled at hearing that. If Kass was this busy at night, what work would be left at day time. They milled around like cursed zombies.
Yes, I thought, one mind bending curse: MONEY.

I told this to Jesse,

“Those creatures that sleep
Trust GOD for needs met
But the faithless must weep
Or struggle till death.

He smiled bitterly and replied,

“Faith for some is a luxury
As death lives next door,
For those immersed in Penury
GOD is hard to adore.

Suddenly a child tried to cross the road about eight cars in front of us. The car that would have hit her stopped suddenly. Nice brakes, I thought.
But the car behind that car ran into it with a muffled smack.
That started a traffic jam.

The driver of the bashed car came out of his car. The basher also came out and the drivers met at the space between their cars where they began an unnecessary, unintelligent argument. It was some seconds it took for the drivers behind them to start going around them but as the road was only three cars wide, this too became a problem.
Jesse craned his head out his window looking for the nearest short-cut to where-ever it was he was taking me.

Thirty minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of a big hotel. The name ‘AT LAST HOTEL’ glowed high on top of it. The ‘LAST’s’ ‘T’ kept flickering on and off. Jesse took out a pad and began to scribble. I noticed from the paper – its pattern and line color – that the paper he had written the sixteen lines of ‘24’ in might have come from this same pad as I alighted from the car.
As he wrote, I said,

“All must realize they were made for reasons
And serve our Maker despite the seasons.
The poor should know faith increasing;
Not by their power do they keep living.

If the poor don’t share their sorrow
The rich might share joy tomorrow
But everyone was made to say, ‘Oh!
What a good GOD, we’re blessed to know.

Jesse shrugged and gave me an I-can’t-argue-with-that look as well as the paper he had been writing on.

Then he put the car on reverse and backed out. I stood aside from the path of the reversing car trying to read the paper.
It was unintelligible.
When the car was pointed at the road, he said to me through his window,

“Give that note to the Receptionist
The founder is this Hotel’s protagonist
If you lean towards perfectionist,
You’ll live after the terrorist.”

As I walked towards the reception, past the gates and the bored security men – who ran some sort of scanner which I normally, associate with security men over me –, my brows were furrowed as I realized that; aside from giving the note to the receptionist, I didn’t understand any other thing Jesse said.
I walked tired and solemn into the Hotel.

The person behind the third door I entered froze me frigid with surprise. I had thought my troubles over for the night. Clearly I was sexily mistaken.

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