Messages (Two): Chideziri POV

Tobi wakes me up Sunday afternoon with a toe in my side. It's barely still bright outside and there's a small drizzle falling. 

NEPA finally decided to show up after going AWOL on Friday night, when this three-day long drizzle started. That's the thing I hate about October; when it wants to rain it rains rhinos and elephants, maybe even a little bit of monkey, the entire menagerie in fact. 

I tumble out of the sheets—they smell like spice and use and unwashness—to plug my phone to the adapter on the wall socket. It was where I had left it before I fell asleep—drowned by the cream waves of my tousled bed sheets.  

Tobi doesn't strip down, even though he is half drenched. He is still in that his brown and black 50-over-50 woven sweatshirt with orange stripes at its shoulder, that makes him resemble a homeless person. His hair is in a disarray, in small tight curls like locks. It adds more realism to the homeless-