CSI Georgetown

This is, within the limits of my hazy heat addled memory, the precise conversation me and a couple of friends had with a taxi driver recently.  None of us had met this guy before.

“Good morning”
    “Maarnin.  Where you go?”
“Pegasus.”
    “Sure thing.”
Driver looks in the mirror and clocks my friend.
    “Hey bai, I saw you yesterday.”
“Oh yeah, where did you see me?”
    “Getting off a minibus on Vlissingen”
“That’s right, I was.”
    “It was a no. 63 bus, You musta come from Berbice.”
“That’s right.”
    “You was wearing a red shirt.”
“Correct.”
    “And grey three quarters.”
“That’s true.”
    “And slippers”. (ie. Flip flops/thongs)
“Right again.”
    “And you had a big blue bag.”
“Erm, yes, that’s also true.”
    “You get on the corner by the gas station, look around, walk back up the road and cross over the bridge.”
“OK, I’m slightly scared now.  Do you know what I had for lunch yesterday too?”
    “Na bai, na.  But I could find out!  Check when you next go the toilet. All that CSI shit, forensics, you know?”
“CSI Georgetown?”
    “Exactly, CSI Georgetown.  That’s me.  CSI Georgetown.”