Random Scrap:
His first suitcase was full of socks and Colombian coffee. The second one was full of hopes, optimism and a couple of bottles of Aguardiente for the nights of celebrations and for the evenings of reminiscence. He approached passport control. "Que pasa. Colombia! Medellin! Escobar" Smiled the officer. Another one that just seen Narcos, a self-declared expert on the trafficking business, shady deals and shipping industry. Another idiot. A true "imbécil". De nada, señor. Es is none of your business. He passed through. Outside stood a bus full of pre-covid tourists. Waiting to get to the centre for their portion of overpriced tapas, cheap beer, wine and anchovies. Another city that looks better on postcards that in real life. His hate towards the city was growing. He pulled out his hand and hailed the taxi. It was going to be better that way. His name was Santander and his house was Bogota - a place with streets full of joy, lost dreams and crushed souls. Not a city you will see on many postcards but one to fall in love with instantly. That is if you arrive in the right time. In the right place. And with the right attitude.