This is my post on #freewriters3081 #dailyprompt I'm just drifting hosted by 
The orange dust of Enugu’s afternoon settled on Emeka’s skin like a second, unwanted layer of clothing. He sat on a low concrete wall near the Holy Ghost Cathedral, watching the yellow transit buses roar past in a haze of diesel fumes and shouting conductors.
For months, his life had felt like a radio tuned between stations—mostly static, with only occasional bursts of clarity. He wasn't exactly lost; he knew the way home to Abakpa well enough. He was just drifting.
The Rhythm of the Streets
Emeka watched a hawker balance a tray of okpa on her head with a grace he hadn't felt in years. Since the firm in Independence Layout folded, his days had lost their edges. He would wake up, walk until his soles burned, and let the city’s chaotic energy carry him.
9:00 AM: Coffee at a roadside stall, watching the suits rush to work.
12:00 PM: Wandering the cool, quiet aisles of a bookstore in Polo Mall, reading titles he couldn't afford.
4:00 PM: Sitting here, watching the shadows of the Milken Hill longen.
"Moving without a destination isn't walking," his father used to say. "It's just waiting for the ground to swallow you."
But Emeka found a strange peace in the aimlessness. In the drift, there was no failure, only observation. As the sun dipped behind the hills, painting the coal city in shades of bruised purple, he finally stood up. He didn't have a plan for tomorrow, but as he stepped into the crowd, he felt less like a ghost and more like a passenger, waiting for the right stop.