How I ended up in a cocaine bar in Bolivia
“Good, good, welcome. What can I get you tonight?”
…Jarib ordered a rum and Coke, and winked. The waiter blinked rapidly (like he’d never heard that one before).
“Good, and, for tonight we have very good quality. 100 Bolivianos, is our starting price. If you want very good stuff, 150, but the decision, of course, is up to you.”
“How about we try the normal stuff, first, what do you say, guys? We’ll take two of those,”Amit scratched his chin thoughtfully and feigned a profound seriousness. I was lost: 100 bolivianos for a drink was steep, I thought. Our waiter tapped his fingers impatiently on the enamel of the table. Everyone at the other tables looked like tourists, and here and there I caught muted fragments of English, but it was as though each table was self-contained.
Amit’s decision was recorded in a little notebook by the waiter, who gave us a tight-lipped smile and returned to the bar.
“You never done coke before?” Jarib asked sardonically.