Dreadlock gal

"You irie deh?" Said the dreadlock gal in the twilight of her youth with the unnatural space tooth, either as a result poor dental hygiene or some physical altercation. "...dats your bruhda inside deh..."..."You can dance well..." These suspicious words entered my ears bounced about my head while being interpreted and analyzed for the real reason behind this conversation. And then it came.

"My pressure good..." She continued. "Then you should start drinking water." I replied. "Me nah, more rum." She said as she swung her hips to the beat of the music while allowing her dreads to flow freely around and intermittently brush against my glass of Hennessy (I dare not look down - lest I were to see her hair in my drink). "I want a beer." She said glancing over in my direction while I stared out into space, hoping she would note that I was oblivious to her and her subtle request. But alas, this dreadlock gal with weathered hands,  fingers and wrist adorned with gold,  nails seemingly trimmed down low  by teeth, in her pink spaghetti strap blouse, blue peddle pushers jeans and black sandals was persistent. She reached into her pocket and covertly looked my way, "leh me see if I have money for a beer" she said. Wow, hold on, is me you want to buy you a drink, I thought. How is me? My thoughts continued, I eh know you from nowhere you dance with my padnuh not me, why you eh check him. Next ting I buy you a drink and is me you want to stick on - who leave dat for me, just so. Woman you better try to buy yourself a drink.

My thoughts are most times harsher than my words.

The dreadlock gal pushed her hand in her pocket pulled out $9 (I think, I noticed either a blue or green note and four coins). She quickly placed the paper currency back into her pocket and laid out the coins on the railing. Even counted each, pushing each counted coin in my direction, as if to say - this is all I have, organise me uhh. Clearly oblivious that I had mentally stepped out of that conversation and any involvement in the dialogue was cursory - the empty road was more intresting.

I think she eventually got the message and the dreadlock gal, took her coins, placed them back into her pocket and disappeared (reminds me of a song my former calypso king The Educator). That was my cue to take my tired ass to my home, and that was the most memorable experience of my first country and western dance at some time after 1 or 2am on the 13th of December 2010. The music was notable also, in a tragic heartbreaking neurotic and suicidal sought of way. The country enthusiast are as excited about their music as the young club goers are about theirs.

Oh well to each his own I suppose, but country is most definately not my own.