When Venance called me very early in the morning, it meant that he was alive – and that he wanted money.
He told me that he had big plans: He wanted to start his own business barbecuing chicken in Jérémie, and he was looking for an investor. I gave him a hundred dollars. Later, I learned that he spent it on a couple of pairs of jeans and some shoes. When I remonstrated with him, he explained that nobody wants to buy chicken from a chicken man who looks like a bum.
Where there's life, there's hope; and where there's hope, there's life.
Long live Venance Lafrance.