The money was real.Heavy. He ducked into an alley and counted it with shaking fingers. Notes. Coins. More than he had earned in weeks of honest labour. He laughed—loud, reckless. “Na so life be?” he said. “Suffering get market value?”
Back at the roadside, he sat again. The frown came easily now, like a muscle discovering its purpose. Money dropped faster. People did not meet his eyes.
By evening, the bag was full. He stood to leave.The street blinked. And the world changed. The air was wrong.Thick. Rotten. Still.
He blinked.
He found himself standing beneath a banana tree whose leaves hung too low, too heavy, as though weighed down by unseen fruit. The ground was damp, but there had been no rain. Someone stood before him. Not fully human.
The thing wore a shape like a person wears clothes—poorly fitted. Its skin stretched too tight in places, sagged in others. Its mouth curved into a smile that did not understand joy. “Welcome,” it said. “Supplier.”
Fear locked the young man’s knees. “I no know wetin you dey talk,” he whispered. The thing tilted its head. “You borrowed hunger,” it said. “You must repay it.”
The nylon bag vanished from his hands. Appeared on its own but empty.
“Your dividend,” The being continued. “Is placement.”
The young man fell to his knees. “Abeg—”
The thing laughed. The sound was like plastic tearing.
In a flash, he is returned to the roadside. Same spot. Morning came too quickly. He sat with a nylon bag in his lap. His face had settled into a frown so deep it hurt to move. He tried to smile. His muscles would not obey.
Money dropped. Coins. Notes. Faster than before.
Across the road, the former beggar danced lightly, laughing, his face young again, unburdened. The young man watched. He wanted to scream. But the road had accepted him. And the road does not release what it feeds on.
THE END
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