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About May Pen

Now, don’t get judgy, mates—ain’t all roses an’ rum. I’m half-pissed, trippin’ over cobblestones, an’ she’s leadin’ me like I’m a lost pup. “This way, ye daft fool,” she snaps, an’ I’m laughin’—she’s got fire! Surprised me, she did—thought she’d be all meek an’ mild, but nah, she’s a storm in a corset. “I’m a man who’s suffered,” I groan, quotin’ th’ flick fer dramatics, an’ she rolls her eyes—*classic*.

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So I roll up to this big ol’ mango tree on the corner of Bay and Main. It was lookin’ kinda rough, branches droopin’ like it was havin’ a bad day. I’m thinkin’, “This tree needs some serious TLC.” I get my gear out, and just as I’m about to climb, this lady comes up to me. She’s like, “You can’t cut that tree! It’s my favorite!” I’m like, “Lady, I’m not cuttin’ it, just givin’ it a trim.” But she was not havin’ it.

Clock ticks for Morant Bay