"Tell me, E. Why do you put so much importance on sex?"
I look at the woman in front of me as if she needs to go to a psychiatric hospital.
"Because it's fan-fucking-tastic when its done right," I say vehemently.
"But who can do it better than yourself?"
I raise my eyebrow, and then sigh. Of course, she is right. This is the real world, and I'm not going to find any mind blowing Christian Grey sex, because even if its out there, I'm just not lucky enough to find it without every STD known to man finding me first.
"Don't worry, child. I've been there, too," she says while smiling at me.
Mrs Diana Dennis, one of the lecturers at the University of the West Indies is at the moment, my only mentor. She lectured me in my first year, but I just never stopped following her around like a lost puppy.
And now, in two weeks, I'll be graduating with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Drama.
"I think you should grow up. Stop frolicking around and go back to work," she says in a mock stern voice.
"Yes, ma'am" I say in a imitation of the American accent, with a salute.
"Seriously though; go back to work, and talk to that friend of yours," she says with nothing short of maternal worry in her eyes.
I can't say no to her when she does that.
"Yes, Diana."
***
"Bae!" I hear from the other side of the store as soon as I enter. It's a hell of a thing to hear at 9 am on a Monday.
I smile and reply, "Rozii."
Yes, that is her name, correct spelling and all; her personality is just as exotic.
But Rozii never misses anything; she assesses me with shrewd eyes, and I can see the words forming in her mind before she says them.
"Bae? How yuh look suh? A wah do yuh?"
I sigh. "Nothing."
A knowing smile plays on her lips, but she holds her tongue.
Now, working in one of the most advanced body modification stores in Jamaica has its advantages, one being that business is never slow.
It actually started out as a piercing and tattoo store with just Roz and I, but in Jamaica, you realize things. You realize that if someone is blacker than ten minutes past midnight, tattoos will never work with them.
Even white tattoos, when healed completely, are about two millimetres below the skin, so it looks like a black plastic bag over faded whiteout. Worse, they turn yellow when exposed to too much sunlight.
So we, in partnership with Roz's crazy ass boyfriend, Chris, decided to explore a new brand of body modification: branding.
After we completed our apprenticeship, he was our first victim. It took four hours and he cried like a bitch.
And now, people of all shades come to get their flesh burned by yours truly.
Anyway, the abundance of people means that I will be thoroughly distracted today.
***
It's 3 pm and I don't even feel tired.
I feel radiant. I'm beginning to realize how much I need this shop. This is my home, and when I'm not here, I get myself into all manner of shit. Currently, I glance up from my watch to look into the face of a grown ass man who is doing his damn best not to cry.
