. . . and he pulled, yanked and forced it to move with extreme effort. His eyes were bloodshot, bulging out of sockets. Veins stood out on his brows. Sweat poured down from hair to chin. All muscles were strained in concentration as he faced the deadly terrain before him.
Front, back, left and right, he saw obstacles, hugh and small. He dreaded them, hated them, feared them. However, he knew all must be conquered in his bid to reach his destination.
Weaving in between the obstacles, he navigated a path only he could see. It was one engraved in his mind from years of frequenting the terrain. He was a veteran and he knew his goal.
His wards sat transfixed in fright as he methodically leveled one obstacle after another. They dreaded interfering with his maniacal movement and concentration for fear that a minute distraction would occasion their waterloo.
In this manner he progressed, staring eyes transfixed on the path and goal ahead. Head whipping from side to side to hurl obscenities at presumed aggressors. Moving at breakneck speed, weaving in between obstacles, muscles strained, veins bulging, voice hoarse until he came to a screeching, bone jarring, teeth grinding, abrupt stop at his goal – the bus stop.
With a final hiss of ‘e bole, e bole’ he announced the end of the hour long trip from Oshodi to Berger.
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