I was starving from a day of airplanes and driving on the opposite side of the road. We eat dinner with the sun still high in the sky. I’m not entirely sure what we ate to be completely honest, though it looked like the aftermath of a shark attacking a school of fish. It was a pile of tiny bones and dorsal fins.

As we eat dinner, Mr. Thompson describes to me his view in detail; how the ocean is visible beyond the marsh; the nearby town visible off in the distance. A car pulls into the driveway. The four-legged, drooling security system starts barking and beating his tail wildly against the wrought iron gate.

“Gem! Gem! Customers,” Mr Thompson shouts. I peek inside the house to see if Gem is near. I see her across inching across the living room. “GEM!!”

In thick toothless Patois Gem mumbles, “mi a come yah, mi hear dem.” Three minutes later, she rounds the corner onto the porch. She reaches into a black plastic bag next to me and pulls out a bundle of something. Mr. Thompson barks to Gem, “How many clean rooms left?” I am able to translate Gem’s response to something about two rooms being left unspoiled. Moments later, she comes back and hands Mr. Thompson two bills, “Four a dem, Mr Thompson. Two rooms, they want.” Mr. Thompson replies, “No more clean rooms. We’re closed after the evening.” I ask Mr. Thompson, “are the women they bring prostitutes?” He replies, “no, dear, no illegal business here. We call this bone-for-bone. They have a girlfriend/boyfriend, but everyone wants a little extra something on the side. I just give them a clean room and condom to help them be more responsible about it.”

Ah, Mr. Thompson is a civil servant.

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