I was listening to my King Tubby cd "Dub Fever" yesterday when I remembered another of those women who have passed in and out of my life.
Her name was Vicky. She was skinny and pale and she wore her hair in wild dreads that felt like old rope to the touch.
The first time I went to her place we smoked a joint or two and looked at a box of photos she pulled out from under her bed. Her and her friends stoned in a tent at Glastonbury.
Then she climbed over to a stack of mini-discs next to a Buddha in a Santa hat (it was nearly Christmas).
"Wanna listen to some dub?" she said.
"Okay. What's dub?" I said.
She lost interest in our relationship soon afterwards because she didn't know how to explain it.
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