Ghanaian Memories
"Diplomat's Son" always reminds me of Ghana.
We'd have lunch every now and then at this great little shop off the "beaten path" (quite a good pun) called cup-a-cappuccino. I never knew how they knew how to get there, the winding roads of houses seemed identical to me.
Every time we'd arrive, there was this blonde woman, unmistakeably not a native, with fancy dresses and jewelry. She'd be sitting, chatting, and enjoying the day at our oasis of pleasure. Sitting outside, soaking in the sun.
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And every time, while we enjoyed little sandwiches and root drinks (which I would soon come to find would be the cause of my stomach infection. Worth It), a car would arrive and she would get in and drive away. With black, diplomatic, plates.
We'd have lunch every now and then at this great little shop off the "beaten path" (quite a good pun) called cup-a-cappuccino. I never knew how they knew how to get there, the winding roads of houses seemed identical to me.
Every time we'd arrive, there was this blonde woman, unmistakeably not a native, with fancy dresses and jewelry. She'd be sitting, chatting, and enjoying the day at our oasis of pleasure. Sitting outside, soaking in the sun.
-
And every time, while we enjoyed little sandwiches and root drinks (which I would soon come to find would be the cause of my stomach infection. Worth It), a car would arrive and she would get in and drive away. With black, diplomatic, plates.