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So, picture this—met this hooker once, name’s Candy, swear to God. She’s out there, fishnets rippin’, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. Told me she started at 16—sixteen, y’all! Pissed me off somethin’ fierce. Some sleazy pimp snatched her up, promised her the moon. Now she’s 30, lookin’ 50, smokin’ cigs like it’s her job. “How’s that workin’ for ya, darlin’?” I asked. She laughed—dry, like tumbleweed rollin’. Said, “Better than starvin’, Doc.”

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Finally made it to the square, and it was packed. Vendors everywhere selling jerk chicken, festival, and all that good stuff. My stomach was growling louder than a dancehall party. I grabbed a plate of jerk chicken from this lady on the corner of George Lee Blvd. Best decision ever! I mean, that chicken was so spicy, I thought my taste buds were gonna file a complaint. But it was worth it.

Another pastor shot dead in St Catherine, this time in Portmore