Conversation with Keith

By Raffique Shah
February 13, 2011

Raffique ShahHE sits on what appears to be a rock hewn from the long-abandoned Laventille quarry (so it seems, anyway, memories of that piece of the Hill’s history now distant), floating somewhere in the sky, shock on his face as he recognises my features. Without query over what I was doing “there” (wherever “there” may be) or greeting me (as was his wont), he booms: Raffique, yuh read where a reporter from my paper—yes, my paper!—wrote that my remains were to be “interred” at the Crematorium? What a thing! What dey interred…mih ashes? Heh heh. By the way, what you doing here? Don’t tell me….
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