Arrived at my city of birth.

Slept. Long flight.

Woke up. Ate.

Did some shopping to have "the needful" (some shit we needed to get a reasonably decent living space for our stay here).

We planned to see my best friends that very night. And so we did. Of course, I took a phone-call-in cab (the equivalent of Über on this third world dirt land, but dirt fucking cheap, not at all "regulated" like the wrecks that are yellow "regulated" taxi cabs and their now-obsoleted political monopoly).

Cabbie, perfect stranger, great conversationalist (like most people from my home town) took us to our destination. As we were getting close, I remembered: what the fuck is a reunion between old friends without beers, right?

So I step outside the cab, Sunday night, fully cognizant that it was strictly forbidden to sell beer on Sunday. See, it's "wrong" because of some retarded "blue laws" unheard of in this country until the cocksucker mayor of this city decreed into "existence" six years ago (under the guise of "protecting families of the scourge that is alcohol"... but somehow only on Sundays, y'know?). It wasn't enough to fuck with the heads of his whore daughters (don't ask), you see, this bullshit artist had to fuck with the livelihoods of many other strangers doing business in "his" city.

I look at the store clerk and I say "Hey, I wanna buy stuff" (cos his eyes are fixated on the telenovela on the dinky TV screen he has hung from the ceiling). "Sure, my friend, what are you buying?". I say "beer, give me twelve beers". His face instantly sombers, and he says "but.... ehh... it's Sunday, we are not allowed to sell liquor or beers on a Sunday".

I glance at him, look around on the street (cab driver waiting for me), and I tell him "Well, I don't see any cops around here, so give me those beers".

The "rule of law" vanishes like the fiction it really is, as this stranger quickly stuffs the twelve beers on a plastic bag and I take the cash out of my pocket. Twelve dollars for twelve beers. Our dealing is done in less than one minute, and I tip him an extra three bucks, because, why not? Here's a stranger I can trust, and I am a guy he can trust, and I'm going to make sure that relationship outlasts this exchange. But, most importantly, while the shithead mayor eats shit obsessing over new ways to fuck with people's lives, this perfect stranger and I were happy.

Just for an instant, the state was nowhere to be seen.

Beauty in truth.