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About Spanish Town

So, check it—I’m cruisin downtown, lookin for that late-night glow, ya know? Neon lights poppin, sketchy corners callin my name. It’s gritty, it’s messy, like Otilia tryna dodge the cops in the flick. I’m all, “Bitch, I’m fabulous, I deserve the best!” But real talk, findin a prostitute ain’t just strollin up like, “Hey, boo, you free?” Nah, there’s layers—codes, vibes, shit you gotta peep first.

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First off, I hit the road on Main St. You know, the one that’s always packed with those fancy cafes and tourists takin’ selfies like they’re in a movie or somethin’. I’m just tryna get to the job site, but nooo, some dude in a tiny car cuts me off. Like, bro, you see this big ol’ tractor? You think you can just squeeze in? I honked, of course. Gave him the ol’ tractor salute. You know, the finger.

Man shot by policeman in Old Harbour