The third, but not necessarily last installment of the Lumumba series.
I’ve never been big into mixing work and real life – whether the “work” be school, a summer job, or my current one. Despite their invitations, I only hung out with the crew from Roger Williams Park Zoo once. One summer’s evening, Tone, my Samoan supervisor, pulled up to my house in her little car. I hopped into the back seat with Lumumba, while Tone’s boyfriend, Chris, sat up front. We were going to head out to one of the many, many Italian festivals that appear in Rhode Island on a nightly basis.
Lumumba & the Hamster
Before heading out to the festivities, we stopped by Tone’s apartment. We all sat down on the couch for a moment and Tone let her tiny hamster run around on the coffee table. He scurried about while Chris rolled a blunt, which I politely declined. The little tan hamster would play with the stems and seeds left on the table. Lumumba had a little trouble sitting at first, mainly due to the hand cannon he had tucked in his jeans. He pulled a glock out and placed it on the coffee table. Tone demanded that gun not be loaded, so Lumumba dropped the clip out. I sat around like a moron the entire time.
I’m not sure if I can give this visual justice, but I will try. Chris and ‘Mumba leaned back on a plush, white couch, blowing smoke into the air. On a small, wood grain coffee table, there was a little hamster running about. He would stand on his hind legs as he nibbled on pot seeds. Then the puff ball, a little bigger than a cellphone circa 2003, was using the pistol like a jungle gym. He would crawl over the trigger, hop over the clip, and slide down the barrel.
The rest of the evening wasn’t terribly eventful, but the image of that little hamster will stick with me.