Found a perfect (hermit crab-free) seat on the ledge that gave me a good view of the party, clear path for the night breeze to reach me and enough space between the monster speakers and my eardrums.

I was having a great time listening to the tunes, people watching and sipping rum. I look forward to getting lost in the local night-life when I’m in Portland and this night was satisfying that longing without missing a beat.

A young guy tucked into a pair of red, skinny-legged jeans and a crisp white t-shirt with the face of Tupac on it sat next to me and smiled. I smiled back. He tells me it’s early and that the place is going to get crowded later.

“Party will be nice.” He says bobbing his head.
“Okay.”

“Okay” was basically my only contribution to the 45/+ minute conversation. I don’t know, it could have been a full hour. But his topics, mainly about himself, were quite personal but interesting. Then out of nowhere…”You here…in Jamaica alone?” “Yes I am.” That question caused me to take a bigger-than-normal sip of rum.

“I want you to meet my uncle. Yeah, yeah…you would like him. He’s a good man looking for a good woman. You are nice. He would like to meet you.” He takes out his cell and pushes a couple of numbers.

“Ummm slow your roll Tupac Fan…are you calling him?’
“YEAH. I want you to meet him so I gone tell him to come to the party.

Instead of stopping him, I take another drink.