Equator Bar, Accra, 9p.m.
He let slip to case a new place to hang out with an advance party of his mates before whisking a woman there. Now, he and three of his mates are having happy drinks with a woman – a tall, dark, leggy vixen in a short, small, black dress. She’s full of electro-magnetic elegance. They put on a cheesecake aided by the combo band. Then, it’s time to go. It’s time to pay.
The waiter drops the bill. The men shoot back in shock. They debate in decibels above the music exactly how many of what they have had. One appeals to see the drink menu – Jackass, isn’t this two hours too late?
Thirty minutes later, when it’s time for my group to hit the door, Miss Legs and her guy are still stuck in their booth. Their mates have long left them. My guess is they are going to bring some money to pay. Miserable toads!