Let the good times roll; with caution

step which swayed the skimpy outfit from side-to-side as she made her way past the group of men at the bottle store, did the trick.
So captivating were the mother- of-one’s antics that they made some of the men whistle.
Here, men’s resilience was being tested in the most difficult way.
Letting her go would prove them toothless bulldogs though falling into Monica’s trap was a sign of weakness. Others beat their chests and thought here was an opportunity to show their prowess in lighting the fires of love.
Guzzlers whose business was quaffing up the quarts remained true to their mission, while others sought the earliest opportunity to plant kisses on the woman’s ruby red lips.
Some men beckoned Monica to them as those not in the fast lane buried their heads in their hands in shame.
A sizeable number of the imbibers left the scene, but others remained where they were, doing what they were doing in the hope of seeing exactly what the member of the fairer sex was up to.
In no time gentle reader, she was in the arms of one of the guzzlers who was later to buy her beer, braai meat and spend a great part of the day with her.
Lies often do the rounds while the truth is still putting on his shoes. In this case, we were to be told that was Monica’s way of life. She used her imposing looks to earn a living, in the process breaking her clients’ marriages and ensuring she left them poorer in as much as their health and financial well-being are concerned.
Vakasasana, vakasasana kare kare,
Vakapfambidzana, vakapfambidzana kare kare,
Nguva yaivepo,
Zvichida zvaibhadhara, zvaive nemari kuda,
Uye zvairapika varume,
Mazuva ano, kuzezana nerovambira,
Kutsvodana nemhakure, chihwandehwande namubobo
Kufa hakuchina chiremerera, mahumbwe chaiwo! sang solo artiste Steve Makoni.
True to the song gentle reader, people no longer fear death.
No matter they would have seen the health of an acquaintance failing, his struggle for survival and eventual demise.
People these days are just not afraid. Falling sick to them is now like a way of life and they will tell you straight in the eye that they attach great faith to medicine and hospitals that are being built by donors throughout the country.
“Even if you want to be careful, you will die one day. No one was born to live forever. There are hospitals everywhere and ndikada kuzvibata manurse anozoshaya basa,” you hear people saying in jest.
Some of these ghetto boys can even beat you for trying to spoil their fun by introducing talk on what to do when drunk and what not to do.
“Ko akazokuti ndiwe wave referee weupenyu hwedu ndiani? Ukada kushamisira unozoguma washama.”
In fact, most people seem to enjoy dicing with death.
Kwadzinorohwa matumbu ndiko kwadzinomhanyira.
Going to church where there is hope of eternal life is done by a handful, while the rest flock to liberty-taking which is full of surprises and fun, though the prospects of death are high.
It is not unusual these days gentle reader to walk into a bar and find a stranger ready to spend quality time with you provided you have cash to finance their pleasure.
A good number of unemployed youths also use these female hangers-on to get a drink or two.
They market these women to strangers and at times even charge fees which they split with these women of loose morals.
“I can organise for you a little earthen angel. She does not know life in bars, so we can pick her up from where she stays and bring her over. She will give you an afternoon to remember,” these young boys will often tell you before asking for a beer.
And the targeted men often do not make their plight any better. They yield to these schemes, but the moment you try to consider how many people have fallen prey to these schemes the earlier you realise that you are in trouble. As long as you have money to buy the people the next few beers and provide the next meal you are considered a real darling. But wait until you are broke and they will start hurling expletives at you as if they are not the very same people who would have accosted you upon your entry into the bar. Others get to the extent of thumping you the moment someone with more cash than yourself shows up.
Kana wapera mari unokandirwa kwakadaro.
Such is life in this world where money, no matter how dirty the source is, clears your way right into the grave. Bars — those places we spend time away from work, are now worse than a lions’ den. It’s either thieves are stealing from you, a whore is milking your cash or you are throwing away money buying beers for strangers.
As I commit pen to paper, there are countless people who are even reading this installment together, but they are complete strangers who have just been brought together by money and a quest to while away time together.
Walking into some people’s homes without money is as if you have committed a crime. People there will welcome you, feign smiles and the moment they discover you are bankrupt spells the end of the sound relations.
“Manje ungati munhu anofunga here kuuya kuzoshanya asina kana sendi zvaro,” you hear people saying while going about their business abandoning visitors in their lounges.
“Kana! Ini handimbozvitsvaga. Ndiye auya, akana asvotwa achangorova pasi,” these people will say, openly showing that they treasure money more than anything else.
Funerals of the poor are normally marked by a low turnout as people always want to be where there are high prospects of being drowned in beer.
Even in family environments the same obtains.
Relatives with money are more likely to get visitors than those with nothing at all.
Even those without view those with cash as if they have a God-sent mission to finance their retirements first.
At beerhalls, if you see someone being pummelled you automatically know that he is a poor man.  
No one with cash is ever beaten up no matter how foul-mouthed they are. Kunofa varombo, vapfumi vachisara.
Getting assaulted or being thrown out of the pub is a sure sign that you are poor.
At this time of the year when almost everyone has some disposable income, wait and see how women who sell sex, fill up beerhalls and awaken to the reality that cash is the root of all evil.
Let the good times roll, but avoid falling into the grave.
Inotambika mughetto.