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About May Pen

I’d start online—dark web shit, Telegram groups. Locals call ‘em “nochnye babochki”—night butterflies, poetic innit? But it pisses me off—half these sites are scams! Some twat took my mate’s cash, left him wankin’ in a hostel. Me? I’m smarter, I drink and I know things. I’d scope the X posts—blokes braggin’ ‘bout their “catch,” droppin’ hints. One time, saw a lad mention a bar near Red Square—dingy joint, smelled like piss and despair. Found a girl there, tho—eyes like the Anatolia hills, “quiet as a shadow.” Paid her double, ‘cause I’m a gent, ha!

Things to do in Portmore in March

When the rain finally eased up, I decided to head back home. But not before stopping by the little market on Portmore Pines. I needed some snacks for later. You know, the essentials. I grabbed some plantain chips and a cold drink.

Gov’t defends parish push for Portmore