There was a older American staying at the hostel. He was 6 ft 5 with graying black hair, beady dark eyes and a pock-marked and badly ravaged complexion. His nose was strangely pushed off to one side as if it had been broken and left un-repaired.
On some days he had a smell about him. It seemed to come from his whole body, as if something was rotting. The German girls complained to me that he had one night stunk up all three rooms of the upstairs with his odor.
The American man arrived 2 weeks before I did and planned to stay another 2. He sat all day in front of his laptop in the common area and did not seem interested in the events of the feria or even to be aware it was going on. He rarely spoke to the young people at the hostel. There was something sick about him, debauched, and I did not want to know more about it.
From my room one afternoon I overhead him telling the Israeli girl that Jerry Seinfeld was the least popular comedian in the United States; that his humor was Jew humor and incomprehensible to most Americans; that his show had continued only because of the manipulations of Jews in the entertainment business and that now Seinfeld was broke and unable to find work. He told the Israeli girl that Seinfeld’s humor would work in Israel and that he should go there. The Jews of Israel would find all his jokes funny.
A few days later I was going out for dinner and needed him to lock the door behind me and he asked me where I was going. I told him. “I’m hungry too, bro,” he smiled. I paused at the door and thought about it. Then I invited him to accompany me. I was wrong to do it and I knew it.
The American and I sat down at a restaurant a few blocks from the hostel. His name was Rocky and he lived in Los Angeles. He had been coming to Colombia every year since 2004 and he told me he had Colombianas in all the big cities. He met them online after paying a website for their pictures and personal information. He paid $12 per girl.
Rocky told me sex stories throughout the meal and I had a hard time eating. Bogota was the best he said and he spent $200 a girl at The Castle and La Piscina. Those were clubs right next to each other and nobody knew about them and all the best looking girls in the country went there to work. I shouldn’t miss Bogota and Rocky encouraged me to go.
The other girls he saw lived with their families and he had to spend money on the entire family to have an opportunity with them. In Pereira he stayed with a 20 year old girl in her room, with her brother and parents in the same apartment, and Rocky took them all on a one week vacation to a finca in the mountains where the father at last let him have his young daughter.
The stories did not stop and I tried to change the subject to football. But Rocky then began to tell me about the mental inferiority of black quarterbacks and how they were unable to read defenses and audible at the line of scrimmage. He presented this as common knowledge and instead of disagreeing with him I quickly finished eating and asked for the bill.
The following day, after having the almuerzo at the panaderia down the street, I returned to the hostel and Rocky told me Sofia was asking about me. Who was that, I asked him. It was the 18 year old sister of Luna, the girl he was after. He had told Sofia about me saying I was a 25 year old American friend of his. “She wants to meet you, man,” he grinned. Oh, I said. I didn’t think much of it and went to my room and took a nap.
When I woke up Rocky was waiting around my door. I could see he was excited. “They’re coming, bro. They’ll be here soon. You should see the tits on Sofia. She really wants to talk to you, man. They’re driving here right now.” An hour later Rocky told me they were out front of the hostel.
Michael Vick MVP.
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