Saturday night I went out drinking in Zona Rosa with an American guy, a Colombian-American girl from Miami, her boyfriend, and a few of her local cousins. We started at Pola Rosa and then moved to Irish Pub. The girls wanted to dance so we went looking for a club.
We paid 10,000 pesos to go into a place offering an open bar, but they ran out of booze just as we got in. It was a hip hop scene packed with 18 year-olds. So we left. At the next club we danced and drank aguardiente. I was quite drunk so I don’t remember why we left the second club, but we found ourselves standing in the street. I met some guy named Silvio. He told us about a club that’s open late, so we all jumped in taxis and went. Silvio plus our original group of 7.
This club was on Caracas at Calle 36. We got a table and bottle, then started dancing. A thick black girl was all over me. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around my waist. I held her up and we did a little fist-pump thing in the air.
This little buff black guy came up and told me not to dance with her. He was completely nice and polite about it. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but something along the lines of she’s the girlfriend / sister / whatever of that important drug dealer / pimp / whatever sitting at the booth watching us. The little buff black guy was wearing a tight polyester t-shirt and a herringbone – like he just stepped out of New Jack City.
I got paranoid and my night was somewhat ruined as I kept an eye on the booth and that drug dealer. Silvio offered me cocaine, which cheered me up. The back of this place was a pool hall, and in the front was the club / dance floor. We walked past the pool hall to the bathroom to snort it. As the night wore on, Silvio stopped going all the way to the bathroom and just did the coke in the pool hall section in full view of the people playing pool. And as the night wore on some more, he stopped going back there altogether, opting just to snort it right on the dance floor. He gave me some every time he did some.
Back at our table, the little buff black guy came up and offered me cocaine. He held out his knife with a big pile of it on the tip of the blade. I don’t know if the knife was his modus operandi of doing coke, or if he wanted me to know he had a knife. I insisted he go first and I go second. None of these fools are going to give me scopolamine. I do this (insist they go first) with booze too. After the little buff black guy and I had our snorts, we had a shot of aguardiente.
The thick black girl followed me around the dance floor. One time she jumped up expecting me to catch her. Having made friends with the little buff black guy and being paranoid of the shady characters at their table, I didn’t catch her. She fell on her ass, which made an uncomfortable scene for the both of us.
All my original group was gone. It was just me and Silvio. I decided I was too drunk to have any more fun and left. Silvio followed me. It was dawn outside. He asked me for money. What the hell was he talking about? He needed money for the bus. I refused as deadbeats are one of the most obnoxious things about Colombia. He kept walking with me for more than a block.
Fed up, I gave him a 5000 peso note – the last of my money – on the condition that he box me. No head shots, just the body. I put my hands up and started lightly slapping at his arms, trying to get him to punch back. He didn’t, so I threw a (real) right hook around his arms and into his side. He half-crumpled over, then turned and ran away. I immediately felt bad and called after him, “¡Parcero!” but he didn’t even look back. I got home at 7am after walking 30 blocks home.
I didn’t feel as bad about that today. I mean, if you have to hit somebody to get them away from you, then that somebody is probably an asshole.
UPDATE: I’ve since learned the sketchy amanecero we were in was the infamous La Cascada, top crook hangout in Bogota.
For those who don’t remember the 90s, this is a goddam herringbone:
New Jack City trailer:
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