On the way back up the hill, I met Brasi at Cal Jam, a little live-music bar near Seastar Inn. There I met the guy a runs it, a reggae artist named "Crazy," and we hung for a bit.

By this time, Brasi had a scooter, too, so we followed each other to Seastar to check out the Saturday night party. Brasi had to make it an early night, so he headed back to Sunset on the Cliffs. I hung with the yardies, then went to see John Holt at Roots (it was kind of dead, and by midnight Holt still had not shown up yet), so eventually I made it back to Seastar Inn and had drinks at the bar with Chris. He said I was doing the right thing by having his guys fix the bike.

It's been 20 years since Chris arrived in Negril, met Francine, and opened Seastar Inn. The best thing about it is they're still madly in love. They were flirting and kissing, and I heard Chris whisper into her ear: "You were hottest girl up there on stage tonight, baby."

She smiled and quickly replied: "No I was not!"

Then they hugged and kissed again.

Chris implored me to come back soon, and I promised I would. Indeed, he is a great host.

I smoked up, having decided to ignore the Jenny's cake still in my fridge, and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep -- noteworthy considering the events of the past hours.