12.12.2012

Peruvian Pussy

It is my last day in Lima and I'm stretched out on the long stone circular bench in the park at Miraflores. The sun is out and I'm drinking some water and relaxing.
 
"You speak English," says this shaved head Peruvian. He's wearing a trendy looking white parka and designer jeans but his face is rough and immediately I don’t like him. I also hate fucking being approached and people talking English at me.

"Yeah,” I say. “I speak English."

"Where are you from?" The guy sits down near me.

I look at him, give him that hard look. "New York," I say.

"Where in New York?"

I look at him hard again. "What the fuck? You been to New York?"

"No. Where are you from there?"

"Manhattan." I glanced around and I didn't see anyone he was working with. I didn't have a bag with me to steal.

"What’s your name?"

I don’t say anything.

"You’re so tranquilo, man," he says. "My name is Alejandro," and he puts his fist out for a fist bump.

I think about telling him how tacky that fist-bump shit is, but I don’t want to talk to him. I look at his fist and then slowly give him a fist bump in return.

"What do you want," I say.

"I do travel tours. Peru, Argentina--have you been to Argentina?"

"No."

"It is great. The woman are beautiful."

I don’t say anything.

"How long are you in Lima for?"

"I leave tomorrow."

"Why?"

"What's it to you?"

"What are you doing today?"

"What's it to you?"

"Maybe you need some help, maybe you want me to show you around. Maybe I can help you with shopping."

"Why don’t you sell this shit to someone else?" I wave at the others sitting in the park. "You’re not getting any money from me."

"I'm not trying to sell anything," he protests, like he's insulted. "I don’t want money."

"Then you want to be my friend," I say and look hard at him.

"You New York guys are so defensive." He smiles and puts his fists up like a boxer. "I am a friend of everyone. Men, girls, everyone."

"You’re not my friend."

He gets up quickly. "What you mean, man?"

He's standing in front of me. I'm still arms spread out on the bench and relaxed. I haven’t moved at all.

"You got a problem, man?"

I don’t say anything. I just glare at him.

"I don’t like your attitude," he says, standing over me.

"Who cares," I say. I'm watching his right. I'm betting he's a righty and when he throws it I'm going to take it and roll with it off the bench and onto the ground. Then jump back up to my feet and I'll come back with my own right and then throw the left hook and if I really want to get down on him I'll flick out by blade and stab him in the fucking throat. I'll put his blood all over that stupid hipster white parka. Fuck this bitch.

But he just stands there. He's shaking now. He's nervous. "This is my land! You come to my land and you talk this way!"

He's too bitch to throw on me. My sitting there peacefully is just confusing him and pissing him off even more.

"Fuck you! Come to my land!" He points his pack of cigarettes at me. I just stare up at him. Challenging him.

"This is my land! You come to my land!" He turns and walks away. Then he stops and looks back and crushes his cigarette pack and throws it on the ground. I reach down slowly and grab my balls. He spits towards me and then hurriedly walks out of the park.

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