Everybody Drinks Corona

I am hesitant to go Into the pub today. Not because it’s illegal, but there is a crème colored 1985 Mercedes 300D parked behind the pine tree. This means the devil is inside; that’s what we call Dr. De Villiers. You don’t know whether you will encounter the good doctor with the charming bedside manner or the violent, bipolar bully. The problem is, most of the time, you can never be sure which it is, so it’s best to always keep a social distance.

- Viv Vermaak

I do the secret knock. Jan opens the door, wielding a spray bottle like a Glock 9mm: “Sanitise before entering!” he commands. He’s decked out in camo pants, his welder’s gloves, and a balaclava. Pssst! Pssst! My hands smell funny. It must be strong stuff because my eyes are watering. “Sorry Comrade,” Jan says, “But this is a battle we all have to fight together.” “Viva,” I mumble and sidestep past him.

Doctor devil has taken office in the center of the counter, sampling a Corona with a sparkle in his eye. “How are you doing, darling?” he asks and orders some drinks: “Two Bheki Celes for me and a Fake News for the lady please.”

“Watsegoed?” I ask. “Two shooters and a Castle Free,” the barman explains.