I will let it fall to the ground,
These broken pieces won’t scare me anymore.
There is a story to be told,
I won’t be afraid to let it unfold.
These dark halls, these crumbling walls,
Maybe they won’t fall to the ground at all.

I’d rather you look at me—
Because the way you see me,
You think I’m some type of second best.

I totally cannot fault you,
There’re days I can’t help me too.
When I stand in the mirror,
I’m tempted to go with the rest—
Maybe this cloth has a patch after all.

The scents of the holidays were all up in the air and it was only the 2nd of December; hopefulness, fresh beginnings and merrymaking.

Linda could sense them all. The evenings’ cool breeze filled her lungs as she strutted gently into the parking lot, in the company of one of her colleagues, Mr Mike Ansah.

TThe time was a quarter past eight am and Kofi Darkwah was standing in front of City Financial Centre… a dark six-foot-tall man, in a black suit; shiny black shoes; blue tie fastened to a stark white shirt.

He was staring at the doors of The Breakfast Place which was opposite his place of work—a road separated the two establishments—and he was wondering why he had never been a breakfast person. Even as a child, his mother had to coax him into eating the dreaded first meal of the day…and when he went to senior high school, he did away with it completely.