Smelly sweet sweat is all over that man’s brows. He sitting over in the break room. Father. The doctor man. The man sitting on that plush red chair made for Americans. The life saver. The patient grandchild favourite. That is Father. He is the one all the other doctors in that room like to forget. They like to eat their buns, they like to stash an extra banana in their lab coat, they like to turn on the cricket match keeping it loud, keeping it at a blast. And in the meantime they are bantering.
‘When yuh a go Trinidad fuh holiday?’
‘I gun go next week. Yuh wan come wid me?’
‘Man, I dun tell ya I was deh last week. This is why I was asking. I need ya to send something over there.’
‘Something for your wife, or for that woman ya slamming?’
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Girar to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.