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About Spanish Town

So, I’m wonderin—what’s it like for her? Is she happy? Trapped? Surprised me how chill some of em are. Talked to this one gal once—total accident, swear it—near a fire call. She’s leanin on a wall, smokin, says, “Hey, hero, need a date?” I laugh, like, nah, I’m good, lady. But she’s cool, tells me she’s been at it 10 years. TEN YEARS! Can ya believe that? “Fish are friends, not food,” I mutter—thinkin she’s dodgin sharks out here daily. She smirks, like she gets it. Weird moment, man.

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A woman begins to fall. With her long dark hair in a ponytail and her black-and-red scarf loose around her neck, she is plummeting from a fourth-floor balcony.

But then, just when I thought the day was winding down, I tripped over a loose cobblestone. Classic! I landed right in front of a group of tourists. They laughed, and I couldn’t help but laugh too. “Welcome to Old-Harbour-Bay, folks! Where the streets are as unpredictable as my day!”

Fisherfolk rejoice at insurance safety net