>>1982914If want to waste time then go to part 2 to read about the rest.
>Just imagine:You‘re born in rural Bolivia during the height of the cocaine trade. The remoteness of your village makes it an ideal location for growing and trading coca. The cartel show up when you’re a child and you’re convinced that they are the only people in the world who know about your home in the mountains; as a teenager, you realize that you’re right. Not even God visits your village. How else could you explain the unspeakable acts of cruelty that happen in your backyard?
You join the cartel, becoming the monster you always feared. The income is too sweet to make you feel for the people you’ve tortured: coca has made your body and soul numb.
You’re patrolling the area as you’ve done a thousand times when you suddenly spot a tall white man casually strolling through your coca operation. You get closer and you see that he’s dressed in a ridiculous hat and backpack. How in the world did he get here? Who is this and what does he want?
You approach him: in the middle of a coca field in the mountains, he greets you with a handshake and a cheery smile like he’s at a fucking dinner party. He has no idea where he is or who you are, but his demeanor says he’s exactly where he should be. In broken Spanglish, he asks you for directions to a building - an empty, crumbling old church abandoned by the Lord himself, long since desecrated by the atrocities under its roof.
This strange man - the first non-mafioso to visit your village in years - has traveled all the way from London just to see four fucking walls and a roof in your miserable little village. He is so hilariously naive, so unfathomably stupid for unwittingly stumbling across cartel property, that you can’t help but feel he’s harmless. Does he even know how much danger he’s in? You let him go with his life just for shits and giggles, fully aware that no other innocent soul will ever venture into your little village again.
