When ever grandma came to visit us she brought us bread. Lots and lots of bread. Of different shapes, sizes and even textures.
For the next few days it would be sandwiches for breakfast and bread with curry for dinner. Frankly her bread did not even taste good and was often broken and crumbly.
Yet mama and papa welcomed her gifts with arms outstretched and faces aglow, all the while thanking God for her safe passage. Huh!
But today mama is weeping cause grandma didn’t make it home.
Why did the police arrest poor grandma?
And what exactly is cannabis?
In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers of 15th September based on a photo by Kelvin M. Knight