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I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

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Nov 14,  · With skimpily dressed prostitutes now roaming the streets of Montego Bay, St James, with impunity at nights, the tourism capital could arguably be branded as an unofficial .

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!”

#TrackingIan | Old Harbour Bay fisherfolk leaving nothing to chance