He sells cheap Jamaican merchandise at street fairs.
…and Bob Marley t-shirts.
I imagine the long dreadlocks bundled under his turban and I hear his soft voice almost like an ancient Jamaican whisper.
He lost his sense of smell after he bumped his head long time ago,
…and he doesn’t like broccoli even though he is a vegan.
A real Rastafari, …and a “Prince”.
-“¿How come a Prince?” I asked.
Whispering, without smiling, and with charming spontaneity he explained me the obvious.
-“My mother is a Queen and my father, a King!”