“If your name is written on a piece of paper with red ink and burnt, you will die,” said Kashubi, a short, bald man dressed in all white. He appeared to be in his early thirties. His audience, also wearing white t-shirts and shorts, considered his statement for a second then cackled unrestrainedly. Kashubi chuckled after the four of them, revelling in their pleasure, having been the cause of it. Ebi, while laughing, rested his left chin on the table around which they were sitting, and pounded it mildly with his right fist; Justus was neck arched backwards, eyes closed and mouth opened – this deepened the tone of his laughter; Terlumun was in distress – he did not fancy spewing the beer that was trapped in his mouth when his amusement began without warning; he couldn’t swallow it either and Ademola clutched his chest with his right hand, because he was doing more coughing than laughing. They were all drunk, and it showed.