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About Phoenix

Found this one gal—*mimes tippin’ hat*—all red lipstick, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Got any dough?” she says, smirkin’. I’m like—*mumbles, pats pockets*—“Only bread dough!” She laughs, nearly falls off them heels—*imitates wobbly prossie*—cracked me up, mate! Felt all happy, like when I nail a sourdough. But then—*frowns, kicks air*—some drunk git yells at her, “You’re filth!” Made me mad—*grrr, shakes fist*—who’s he to judge? Ain’t his coffee plantation burnin’ down, like in *White Material*. “Everything’s falling apart!” Isabelle’d say—prossie’s life too, innit?

THE HISTORY OF PROSTITUTION.

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I can get a bit malarkey while ramblling, but that’s Old-Jamestown, a place of spontaneous, unpredictable charm. Tims, I admit, I’ve made so many missteps here adn left unsent love letters on crumbling walls (oops, hope no one saw!). Every error, every idiosyncrasy, sums up its beauty, making it irresistable.

ISLAND HISTORY