Craigs Stories, Tales, Views, BS, Opinions, Blog
“But a Rasta never Marry, Cause a Rasta Never Sorry”
The tune still sticks in my head – it was part of a walking song our Jamaican friends called out as they trekked over the hills and ravines leading us to their bush outposts.
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Readers of this post should first catch up by reading the first part.
After hanging with Ken (the Fisherman) for a day or two, he pulled us aside for a personal chat and said “you folks don’t belong here (in town). I have some people I’d like you to meet”. Heck, we figured anyone who was alright with Ken was fine by us, so we answered in the affirmative.
He took us on a long walk up the coast road……for those who know Negril, this is past the caves and cliffs where the road gets lost in the bush. At some point we turned into the bush, and walked down a rugged path into the hills. Read More…
My first girlfriend was really into sex – a real addict. This was a pleasure for me, being a very shy and retiring teen. I never did, and never would, ask a girl for a date. By the time I hooked up with Carole (named changed to protect the innocent), I had already missed the chance at my first 4 or 5 loves. Not that sex was all I wanted – far from it. My first “loves” were women who I thought were beautiful inside and out…definitely could sense their presence! Read More…
Must have been the summer of 1968 or so – we heard tell about some folks with a small farm right outside of AC who were growing pot. They told us we could pick all we wanted for $30. Read More…