I was managing Hanover Street at Grand West
at the time, and one evening as I walked through the casino
on my way to work, I ran into two ‘friends’
that I had not seen in a very long time.
‘Pruim’
(Plum) was tall and lank, while ‘Fats’
was shorter and was once fat. A Long time ago.
Together they looked a bit like Mutt and Jeff, if
you can imagine a Mutt and Jeff from the Cape Flats,
on drugs.
They were both heavy rockers.
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‘Smack! hell my brother,’
said Pruim, ‘we smack! haven’t seen you in
ages. Smack! are you coming smack! to gamble? This place
is bad smack! luck my brother. We are on our way home
smack!. Tell me smack!, how does one smack! get out of
this smack! place?’
‘We’ve been walking smack!
around for smack! hours. We smack! can’t find smack!
the exit,’ added Fats grinning stupidly.
So I pointed them in the right direction
and explained how to get to the huge exit, clearly visible
from where we were standing, and continued on my way to
work.
It was 20h45.
Six hours later, on my way to the parking
lot, as I walked through the casino, I ran into them again.
‘Smack! ow brother,’ said
Pruim, ‘I thought you smack! going to work.’
I just finished work,’ I said, ‘it’s
3 o’clock in the morning.’
Pruim looked at me blankly.
‘Yor’ said Fats, grinning
stupidly, ‘that was quick jong. Smack!. We still
looking smack! for the exit. Smack! WHERE
is it? Smack!’
The moral of this story?
Doing drugs is a waste of time.
