Four lines of prose about: wrong turns.
Continuing the Jamaica story, we hopped in our rental car and left Negril behind. We were heading for Treasure Beach on the south coast and after several wrong turns and too many potholes, we stopped for a short rest at this pretty little spot:
After a few more wrong turns and a hell of a lot more potholes, we arrived at our guesthouse and wandered out back to find this:
Looking the other way:
It was a long, tiring drive, but the destination made it totally worth it. Speaking of the drive, here's the rental car, parked out front beneath bougainvilleas:
I think tomorrow I'll share some pictures from the boat trip we took along the coast and up Black River to see the crocodiles.
Oh, I've finally caught up with all the comments that were left while I was gone. So now I can get back to my usual routine of posting the day's prompt and then replying to the previous day's comments. Hurray!
Henri stared at the brick wall standing in his way and sighed, the cigarette between his lips hanging on for dear life. The wall was not meant to be there, not according to the map his assistant had provided him with that morning before he left the office. As he pulled the cellphone from his breast pocket and flipped it open he didn't even entertain the possibility that he had made a wrong turn on his own.
This was obviously his assistant's fault, and she was about to suffer the consequences.