by Pinki Parks
We passed quickly through a neighborhood struggling to make ends meet. This was the underbelly of the island where unsavory characters peddled their wares. Women in scantily clad clothing were indulging in the world’s oldest profession. They were selling their bodies to the night. Even in the harsh glare of daylight there were still some flaunting what their mama gave them.
It made me a little jittery, but I calmed down after we bypassed those staring at us in judgment. We soon came across an installation with a barbed wire fence and an armed sentry standing at his post. The uniform was indicative of a branch of the military I knew well. The Marines were born and bred to do the impossible. My father served before his accident.
“Salvatore, can you tell me what that place is used for?” I caught him off guard and whatever Harmony was doing with her hand had his undivided attention.
To be continued…
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