Panicked after a gunman shot his teenaged brother and then fired at him, a horrified Nathaniel Roberts saw a ray of hope when a marked police car came up towards them on a dark empty street in San...
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While driving over a little bridge near Rockley Bay, I see two figures sitting on a bank of the river, on the landward side of the bridge. From the road the water looks like green glass. The figures appear to be two women fishing. Their simple, silvery vehicle, is parked at the side of the road, windows down.
I park obliquely opposite with windows up (a habitual reaction, having lived in Trinidad). I head with Venus on a leash toward the pair. The women, one sitting, one standing, are chatting as they gaze into the water, holding rods of long, slim bamboo attached to nylon and bobbing corks. The image is testament to a simple life, one that does not need much to be content in the moment.
Their bait is large chunks of fish which, as one woman explains, will tempt the crabs out of the water. An empty bucket sits nearby, waiting to be filled with the crustaceans the women are yet to catch. “We really just here relaxing,” one woman says, unperturbed by the lack of crab response. It is indeed an ideal spot for relaxation. Quiet, clean, green, still, safe. A light late afternoon breeze, tinged with the ocean’s scent, crosses the road to meet us.