montego bay airport - a little drop of hell in a whole lot of paradise

well, John had arrived not seven minutes ago, and already, he regretted the decision to not purchase the air conditioned jogging suit they were selling in the airport back at the states. he wasnt much of a jogger, but in a customs area about the size of a walk in closet, with fourteen other people and not even a ceiling fan, and with the cool sea breeze of montego bay lying just beyond the glass enclosure, he sure wished he had bought the damn thing. for twenty five subsequent minutes, he put up with the abrasive heat, before finally, just as he was ready to scream and foam at the mouth, the call of next in line fell upon his ears.

finally, ready to leave the airport once and for all, John stepped into the bright jamaican sun, all smiles in spite of the tip he had to lay out for the guy who was walking him the forty feet from the airport door to the bus that would take him to his hotel.

as he stepped on the bus, his eyes swept around, taking in the various different people that would be his companions on what, if he remembered correctly (he had been to jamaica once before) would be a thirty minute drive with an escaped mental patient for a bus driver. the bus was full, all save for the back passenger side seat, so, luggage in hand, he made his way to the back. it was there that luck, or destiny struck yet again.