Lost in madness
I'm such an idiot.
The drive through Abuja is a blur of familiar sights and sounds. Street vendors, crowded markets, the smell of burning charcoal and spicy food drifting through the car windows. Luke doesn't try to make conversation, and I'm grateful for the silence.
The hotel, when we finally arrive, takes my breath away. It's not just expensive – it's obscene. Marble everywhere, crystal chandeliers, staff in uniforms that probably cost more than most people make in a month.
My room – no, suite – is on the top floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the entire city. The furniture looks like it belongs in a museum, and there's a bottle of champagne waiting on ice.
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