The Red Cat by M.J. Valentine

IT was obvious to all the moment he entered the room. The scoundrel was dressed in a red velvet cape, a galaxied tiara of crystal about his brow. Ganymede! Apollo! Oh, slick-tongued Dion, dreaming in the long grasses! He leaned his long frame over the bar and asked for milk from the nipples of Aphrodite.
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No. 103

My patients were always strangely delighted when the pills matched their handbags or polo shirts. I took my belongings out of a time-battered suitcase that belonged to my father, and laid my shirts out on the single bed to decide which was most suitable. There was a cocktail bar nearby, but in a place like Sherman I didn’t expect much of it. At home, I’d grown tired of the prescription drug addicts and débutantes with anxiety disorders, so I’d flown east to find someplace without the designer label boredom, intending to stay a month or two. I was unaccustomed to the high salary I’d been receiving then, leaving much of it unspent, and was pleased to finally have anything to do with it.

All I wanted was to get a clean towel out of the dryer so I could take a shower. I hoped to slip by her, unnoticed, as she hovered in the kitchen while I was rinsing dishes. I could feel her looking over my shoulder and pretended not to know she was lurking. And when I finally turned to take the kitchen trash out, she said, “Have you heard of this book Billions?” I said no, and that I would be right back.

In Darkness:

Chakula hichi ime toka kwa mkono wango
Naomba ita kaa kwa mdomo wa Mzee
Mzee mwenyewe atai pendaaaa
Yake nii kuu sema ni yeye
Sio yanguuuuu
Ni yake
Yake
Mzee

Mwena mweni
Not mine, his
Mwena mweni
Not mine, his
Mwena mweni
Not mine, his
Mwena mweni mwena mweni