You know, as in “home again, home again …”
Is it really already a week since I was arguing with AC about whether he would come have dinner and sleep over at my house or if he really expected me to walk the mile and a half in the dark to his place?
Only a week since I sat on the verandah over breakfast with this view:
I sometimes read reviews of this part of Jamaica in which writers complain that there isn’t anything to do. And that’s absolutely true if you’re looking for jet skis and parasailing and party boats and Margaritaville. There’s none of that noise and nonsense down here. Instead, there’s quiet company as I take a break in the middle of my bike ride:
(Ok, and sometimes there’s quiet company in my room at night —
And there’s the surprise of a dried leaf that’s more than it seems:
And there’s the simple fact of utter gorgeousness everywhere:
And of course, even without any of the rest, there’s this:
Yeah. Nothing to do. Just my kind of ‘nothing.’
Tonight on the subway platform after work I found ten dollars. Already started saving for the next trip!
¹ No, that’s not AC. It’s actually Kenrick, the friend I thought I’d lost during the summer. He’s what I like to call a ‘caramel Rasta’ … as is AC.)