G. J. Rojas

G. J. Rojas

Photo: Pxhere

Rami, the Cuban dealer in Medellin

Juan Pablo Cabrera wants to get high for the simple reason that it’s Friday. For more or less four years he has had this habit that, for him, can in no way be understood as a vice. "It’s a need, just the need to forget about myself for a while," he says. Juan Pablo, 28, leaves work at four in the afternoon from a renowned bank located in downtown Medellin, grabs the subway at Parque Berrío and gets off at Poblado station, walks nine blocks, buys an energy drink to mitigate the heat, gets to a building, kindly greets the doorman, presses the elevator button, goes to the seventh floor, enters his apartment, opens his backpack, takes off his shirt with the bank logo and puts on a muscular Puma brand, sits in a beanbag, grabs his XR iPhone and on WhatsApp searches for Rami. Once the contact is found, he says hello, waits for an answer and, after exchanging some words, Juan Pablo asks for a gram of Tusi (synthetic drug), they agree on the price (40 USD) and the delivery time (7 pm). Almost half an hour after the agreed time the iPhone rings as if it were...

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