Ramón held his glass aloft. “A toast,” he shouted over the din of the crowd. “To San Sebastián!”
“And his perforated testicles!’ roared Philippe. They clicked glasses and drained the fiery rum in one swallow.
“Another!” Ramón yelled to the barman. All around them the crowd surged shoulder to shoulder, filling the bar and spilling out into the street. Music throbbed through the loudspeakers, the song lost in cacophony. “Who are all these fuckers?” he shouted into Philippe’s ear.
“Revelers!” yelled Philippe. “It’s a fiesta!”
“I think they’re Mexican narcotrafficantes” Ramón shouted. “Look how they’re dressed!” He gestured to the man behind Philippe, a hulking figure in a loud yellow shirt. Philippe turned, catching his glass on the man’s sleeve, drenching him with the dark rum. The man whirled around, face twisted with rage.
“You stupid ass!” he screamed in a Mexican accent, the knife already in his hand.
The neighborhood of La Perla in Old San Juan has only recently begun to from a wave of violence. In 2011, the tiny island’s record 1,136 killings put it on par with civil war zones such as the Congo and Sudan in terms of murders per capita.
So vivid I wanted to run when the knife came out. You really brought that to life.
Thanks! :-)
An exciting story, full of pace. Great stuff!
nicely written post. keep it rocking up !!
I was already shuddering at “perforated testicles” :-) I get a real sense of noise, crowds and random violence.
Thanks. Saint Sebastian was martyred by a thousand Roman arrows, so it was his Catholic joke. Glad you liked it!
And his perforated testicles!’ roared Philippe. The words are spot on. Loved this no end, Hardy.
Poor Ramón. I fear he just made his last fashion statement.