The life and times of Dusty Red

by Chris Morvan

I found her in a back street in Willemsburg, Curaçao, down where the Venezuelan fishermen come in and sell fish and fruit and vegetables along the dockside. It’s like a foreign country within what is, for me, a foreign country. We only had 14 months together – but what life we packed into that short time.

To be honest, I had had one like her in the past; it wasn’t so much the word Curaçao emblazoned on their chests as their substantial softness and some indefinable element of class. They both possessed it. They were different in some ways, certainly in terms of color, but each exuded style and refinement. I touched her and knew immediately I had to have her.

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