Venezuelan Variety

Friday 1-31-14

I am studying abroad in Venezuela, and am with a local girl from my host family.  She is my age but doesn’t speak any English.

We go to a crowded rooftop pool. I am quickly getting overheated to the point where my skin feels like it is nearing sunburn in 15 minutes. I convey to her through emphatic nonverbal cues that I want to leave. She leads me through the crowd towards the exit.  We wade through the pool as a part of our route to the exit.  The water is ice cold, and feels amazing on my sizzling skin.

We exit the building, and she leads me through streets, through shops, down alleys, zig-zagging and criss-crossing here and there until I lose track of her. I quickly begin to panic at having lost my way and my guide, and try to backtrack.  Perhaps I can retrace my steps.

Serendipitiously, I come across her while backtracking. She looks confused, as she didn’t even realize I was missing.  It is revealed that she does, in fact, speak English perfectly. She had been being a bitch instead of speaking to me.

Night falls, and I’m at what might be described as a food court.  It’s asthetic is more like a warehouse, with concrete floors and no décor.  The host girl is there with me, and tells me that there is a Chinese food joint.  I take a place at the end of a very long line.  All around me are other patrons, all a bit rough and intimidating looking.

When the line progresses, I’m faced with food court style store fronts: Mexican food, a burger joint, a pizza place… Things are feeling rushed, so I make a quick decision on a chicken sandwich.

The checkout process is more ridiculous than the waiting time.  I’m shuffled through an asinine circular line.  Fed up and confused, I leave the sandwich behind.  It probably wouldn’t have had mayo on it, anyway, I think to myself.

Next, I'm in a tourist shop surrounded by clueless white yuppies. It is daylight again, now.  I approach a cashier although I’m carrying no merchandise.  I point to some leather pouches with clear front covers and ask if she has any more photo holders like that one. Despite the long line of people waiting behind me for the attention of the cashier, she leaves her station to assist me. She shows me that there are three kinds. I debate between the products in order to pick one as a present for the host girl. The one I purchase has multiple leather wallet-sized frames inside. It's 10.95

Nighttime again, and I'm walking the streets with the host girl. She spots a rack of some kind of clothes inside of an open air shop and says "Oh, want. I wonder how much it is." I direct my attention to the rack of clothing to look for the price. It is a rack of lace see-through boy-short style panties with a gem on the waistband. She wants the neon pink ones. There is a paper sign stuck to the middle of rack with the price printed on it.. “Theyre $8.88,” I tell her… but she has vanished again, this time into a sea of dark haired Asian girls.  They’re everywhere, like I’m in the middle of a J-pop video, all wearing mesh and fishnet clothing items in neon colors.  I traverse through the store and the sea of J-pop wannabees looking for girl. I've gotten better at this, and find he quickly.

We go next to a party in a small, unfinished basement and get hammered with her friends, who have a lot more personality than she does. Krer (though she has married since I knew her, so now she is Kros) is there  as one of her friends with garishly blond hair and a foul mouth.

While we are partying, the lights go out, alarms blare, and tiny blue lights like smoke detector lights go off in the basement. Everyone gripes and curses. Raid protocol. Everyone at the party crams into small room, bodies touching. It is way too hot to be this packed. The close quarters provokes instant flop sweat. Kros throws profanities and I practice cursing in Spanish. “Cara de perra!” Kros yells a praise at my dirty Spanish.

John Barrowman as Malcolm Merlyn

In what feels like a disjointed part of the dream, I find myself wandering the streets in an upscale hotel district. The treets are well lit and clean, but completely empty. I see John Barrowman as his character in the show Arrow, Malcolm Merlyn. As in the show, he is a corrupt douchebag. He is having an animated discussion with a concierge in the front hallway of one of the hotels. I pass by and huddle into a drunken stupor onto the covered sidewalk. When he emerges from the hotel after being rejected, I lift my head and shout “Hey!”

Without looking back, he says "I don't have enough money to afford you," waving his hand dismissively at what he thinks is a hooker.

“Hey!” I shout again, more aggressively. He turns and walks towards me.
We end up at a run down, empty ramshackle of a temple of some sort, when he collapses on the floor next to the wall. I keep calling him Padre and try to wake him up from where I'm slumped across the way. He mumbles. We pass out.

I wake up in a small, sealed up, pyramidic tent. The exterior of tthe tent is covered in mud.  I find a perforation in tent and tear through the sides. Outside my tent in the morning sun are several people wielding mud balls.  Upon seeing me, they fire.  I run for it, but I’m covered in mud by the time I get to the road. Walking along the shoulder, I bitch to Malcolm that I probably have feces in my mouth.