The Naked Man and The Mob (Colombia)

I remember smashing whisky cokes at the bar in Houston airport so that I would be drunk enough to sleep on the plane down to South America. When I arrived in Bogata, I booked a hostel on my phone because I had an eighteen hour layover before my next flight to Pasto. It was 1 a.m. when the Taxi driver took me down a handful of desolate alleyways between graffiti painted brick walls before we arrived at the place.