Chaos...
Uncle Bakari was chaos.
A weather system of regret and laughter.
A storm in slippers.
But if survival was a continent, he'd be its capital.
And maybe that's why I still remember him; drunk at noon, broke by Sunday.
But more honest than all the sober men I've ever met.
This was my uncle Bakari.
And in some wild, crooked way... he was free, completely free.
© amimoh
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