Growing up in the Caribbean there were a lot of monkeys around.
Sometimes they’d get into the house and steal things. They were tricky little bastards and they’d shit on everything and make a general mess.
We went to the zoo a fair amount. There were monkeys in captivity and wild monkeys that just went there to visit them and fuck around with the guards and gawkers. Some of the monkeys had lost their tails, for a variety of reasons. I always felt sorry for those monkeys. They weren’t as good at climbing as the monkeys with tails. But with their changed physiology they became much more adept at other things. They would hang around town and beg. They became familiar characters on the fringes of society.
One of my earliest memories was of our house being robbed while we were out. I was probably about two years old but I remember finding it really funny how pissed off my dad was that his favourite suit had been stolen.
I wondered if monkeys could even wear suits.
I guessed the ones without tails could.
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