NEW YORK VS. JAMAICA

"New York reminds me of Jamaica," my room mate Lynn said as we walked down busy streets today. And she was right, it did.

I've been to Jamaica once, and it changed my life. I can still see it when I close my eyes, the white sands and gentle sounds of the waves. The sun warming my skin and the faint ever present smell of marijauna lingering the in air.

If you visit Negril, you cannot walk along the road without at least twenty different cab drivers stopping to ask, "You need taxi?" It seems the total opposite of New York where I've had to beg drivers to take me from Manhattan to Brooklyn. In Jamaica, as you walk along the sandy beaches the locals will follow you and try to sell you every drug under the sun. Lynn and I and our friend Paul walked along the beaches in Jamaica one day, when we heard the common salesmen speech.

"Hey mon, come here mon," He says to Paul, as he pulls out bags and bags of drugs. "You need anything?"

"No, man we're good."

"I got the mushroom tea, the ganja tea, the cokes the smokes....."

"No thanks man," said Paul as we continued to walk. The man then leaned closer, and attempting to whisper replied:

"Roofies for the ladies?" We couldn't stop laughing. It is an ongoing joke even today, when Lynn and I were strolling along the streets of Manhattan, with its smog and skyscrapers, cars and concrete. It was a far cry from palm trees and endless crystal clear water.

"Excuse me, ladies?" a black man stops us.

"Yes?"

He leans closer and whispers, "Would you like to buy a bag?" We pause, stunned for a moment. And then, the familiar chant:

"I got the Prada bags, Gabanna bags, the Gucci, the Fendi......"