''Di Man Dem Sugar''

She wakes up feeling fucked. Fucked equals a feeling of intense migraine and vertigo and anterograde amnesia. Like most Sunday mornings, she tries her possible best to sit up but her limbs don't allow her to. They seem to have assumed a life of their own- a rather lifeless and surprisingly dormant life that's very much unlike her. Her vision gradually focuses and blurs, then focuses again. She stares at the fan dangling dangerously from the ceiling and wonders why there's a fan in her room. The last time she checked, her tips couldn't buy one. The migraine kicks in again. For one thing she realizes she's completely naked in a stranger's bed.  
''But whose?'' her battered brain quizzes.Her mind desperately tries to replay the incidents of the previous night to no avail. ''Oh shi...'' the words feebly escape her lips. Her throat hurts.

Slowly, she turns her head and stares at the unshaven Caribbean male lying next to her. She wonders who this stranger might be. She takes in his handsome old face-the texture of his ebony skin and the arch of his brows. Clearly he's much better, in more ways than looks, than the Asian she woke up with the previous week. Her crotch hurts. Her brain seemingly begins to function again. She vaguely remembers entering Verbs with someone...someone tall with a scarf for a belt and a faded pink tweed jacket. Kofi! That asshole. She wonders how much he made this time. Two? Maybe three hundred. The last time he said he got only a hundred dollars from 'selling' her off to a Mongolian bussiness man who was passing through the country for the weekend. That was a lie of course. She had later found a check for two hundred in his trouser pocket. 
''That asshole'', she mumbles under her breath,''He pimped me again!''

The man stirs in his sleep. He yawns and farts and slowly opens his eyes. He looks at her as though she were a little girl lost in time. She stares back. He closes his eyes and opens them again. She's still staring. There's something oddly enticing about the way he looks at her; as though his mechanical stares caress every inch of her body.
''Stop it'', she thinks, ''He's nothing but a client.'' Like all the others she'd had, the conversation with this new client went in similar fashion.
''Ou yuh are dis mawnin? he asks. She barely understands what he's saying so she remains quiet.
''Yuh nuh understand mi? he tries again
''Yes I don't understand you'', she replies and looks away from him to avoid his pungent morning breath.
''Fi mi bad. Lass night was gud doh''
''Okay. Are you going to tip me now?''. She was getting impatient of his small-talk. He wasn't her lover for Christ-sake; just a client. Just that.
''Yes, but mi want one mo ting. Mi want ah quickie.'' he says and gives another mechanical stare.

In her mind she knew she needed to be out of the room. She knew her three-year old boy needed her back at her grandma's. She knew her grandma was counting on her to bring back the money. Their rent was long overdue and they had finished up the last tuber of yam. Amidst her thoughts, he asks again,
''Do yuh want ah quickie or nah?'' She looks intently at this stranger for a moment, and then climbs atop him. He puts his hand behind her head and whispers into her left ear,
''Yuh are di man dem sugar.''