Aún sobrevivían algunos sorbos de la segunda botella de un ron de tres por kilo,bautizado hasta los huesos, y nos sentíamos a pocos centímetros de la gloria. Lo único que faltaba para completar nuestra dicha era un buen "Party" o en su defecto, un cuarto donde liberar las dopaminas y endorfinas acumuladas entre besos y caricias, con un sexo duro y caliente, opción por excelencia cuando quieres fiesta y no dispones de un centavo extra para gastar en cumbanchas y farándulas, cuando no puedes ir al Parisién, al Salón Rojo del Capri, a cualquier Hotel todo incluido u otra instalación recreativa porque estás tres metros por debajo del subsuelo en cuanto a salario y vives en un país que está a quinientos años luz de que su Producto Interno Bruto, se convierta en un Producto Interno Inteligente.
Hello, my friends. It is with great pleasure that I greet you. Today, we continue with the Havana rendezvous; I hope you are enjoying it.
There were still a few sips left from the second bottle of a cheap rum, watered down to the bone, and we felt inches away from glory. The only thing missing to complete our bliss was a good party or, failing that, a room to release the accumulated dopamine and endorphins through kisses and caresses, with hot, passionate sex—the preferred option when you want to celebrate but don’t have an extra cent to spend on revelry and merrymaking, when you can’t go to the Parisién, the Salón Rojo of the Capri, any all-inclusive hotel, or other recreational facility because your income is three meters below the poverty line, and you live in a country that is five hundred light years away from turning its Gross Domestic Product into an Intelligent Domestic Product.
I spent the night with my eyes fixed on the imposing Hotel Nacional, imagining the luxurious room where I would have liked to end the evening: its imperial round beds, the water mattresses we would never lie on, the air conditioning, the mini-bar stocked with beers, the modern TVs with countless channels, the buffet restaurant and its delicious delicacies that had nothing to do with the garbage sold on the Malecón. All these fantasies swirled in my head. Fortunately, dreaming and having hopes are among the few free things in life, and not even poverty can take that away from you.
-¿Cómo usted se llama? Individuo.
-Armando Guerra De Armas.
The red lights of a patrol car beacon, making rounds on the avenue to maintain order, brought me back to reality. Several officers were moving through the crowd, asking for identification from those they deemed necessary. We were about to take our last sips when a police officer asked for our IDs. He held a metal clipboard with an identity card and stared insistently at Armando. After giving a hand-to-forehead greeting gesture and shining a flashlight in our faces, he asked with some suspicion:
-What’s your name, sir?
-Armando Guerra De Armas.
-¿Yooooo?
-Sí, anoche extrajeron cincuenta kilogramos de leche en polvo en una unidad de Marianao. Esto fue encontrado en el lugar de los hechos.
El oficial mostró el carné de identidad y en efecto, era el de Armando. Quedé sin habla. De inmediato se personó una patrulla, enseguida lo verificaron por la planta, y por no tener, no tenía ni antecedentes penales, mucho menos una multa. El trató de explicar que lo carterearon la semana anterior en una guagua pero ya el oficial le había colocado las esposas, listo para conducirlo.
That was how I learned of those unique surnames that perfectly contrasted with his first name.
-You are under arrest on suspicion of breaking and entering a grocery store.
-Meeee?
-Yes, last night fifty kilograms of powdered milk were stolen from a store in Marianao. This was found at the scene.
The officer showed the identity card, and indeed, it was Armando’s. I was speechless. Immediately, a patrol car arrived, and they verified his details through the system. He had no criminal record, not even a fine. He tried to explain that his wallet had been stolen the week before on a bus, but the officer had already handcuffed him, ready to take him away.
It was at that moment, as they were about to put him in the back of the patrol car, that they received a call saying the real perpetrators had just confessed that Armando was innocent. They had found his ID card discarded on the street by chance and left it on the floor of the store to frame him. The uncomfortable handcuffs were removed from my frightened partner, his ID was returned, and they apologized for the inconvenience.
To be continued...
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Thanks to visite my blog
Text and imagen are my own
