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About Montego Bay

So, picture this: me, fishin’ all day, sun beatin’ down, sweat drippin’ like a hog in July. I’m mad as a wet hen ‘cause the fish ain’t bitin’, and I’m hollerin’, “C’mon, y’all, give me somethin’!” Then—bam!—this gal sashays by, skirt shorter than a minnow’s tail. I’m like, “Well, slap my britches, is she one o’ them workin’ girls?” Ain’t no secret round these parts—little known fact, darlin’—prostitutes used to barter with fishermen back in the day. Fish for a quick fling! Ain’t that a hoot? History’s wilder than my hair on a humid day!

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After that, I head to my office on the corner of Constant Spring and Red Hills. I’m trying to focus on my work, but my mind keeps drifting. I’m thinking about that goat, and I can’t stop chuckling. My coworkers are looking at me like I’m losing it. But hey, it’s been a long week, and I need a laugh.

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