"The legend returns. You know the deal, legend-man. Smokes are smokey, pilsner... gets…

"So, what's the deal, friend? Want the spirits or not?"

"Feels like someone's trying to jam an angry hedgehog down your nostrils, doesn't it, buddy-boy? Wait for the adrenaline-tsunami, it's really great!"

He's exaggerating. It bites, but only a little.

"Okay, how?"

"The idiots left me alone in there. Now, I used to teach high school biology. I know what doctors use to preserve dead thingies..." He gets an excited gleam in his eyes.

"Have they no shame taking money for a service they provide!"

"That's a good tip, I should remember it."

"Well, it really isn't," he croaks. "In a week the goddamned kidneys started giving me all kinds of hell. Finally the missus took me to a private doctor's office -- not a charity, the real thing..."

"You know what?! I don't even want the spirits anymore!"

Nod -- let him speak.

"You know, it's funny, actually..." He bursts out laughing, then takes three gulps of his pilsner and stares at you intently.

"I'll just have the spirits and not the story today, thank you."

"Right... right..." His tone cools considerably. "As I said, that'll be 300 reál."

"Amphetamine?"

"Aye, by amphetamine I mean speed."

"I thought by speed you meant amphetamine?"

"Aye, 's'what I said."

"Right. Got it."

"Good-good, my man." He takes a chug from his beer bottle. "Now what can I offer ya?"

"I think you didn't hear me, when I said I'm a police officer."

"Sure did, buddy-boy," he taps the side of his nose. "That's why I said amphetamine. I mean speed. I mean amphetamine. I got both."

While the grand bourgeois in La Delta are so rich, they literally float above the law, this merry company crawls so far beneath, they too are rendered virtually untouchable. The beauty of extremities.

"I'm off." [Leave.]

"In the civilized world, it's a custom to tip the shopkeep, friend. But come back anyway." He waves you off.

"Sell me some speed."

"Here you go, friend." He hands you a tiny bottle with a straw. The powder looks clotted and quite mouldy.

"That is unhygienic. And dangerous. And it does not endear you to me -- just wanted to make that clear, okay?"

"Pfff... unhygienic. This stuff is very hygienic. Anything else?"

"Quite the business venture you've set up here."

"Oh..." He gets a proud gleam in his eyes. "The system's been good to old Rosemary here and I'm milkin' 'er like a bitch goat in the backyard."

"What do you mean?"

"You see, friend," he raises his index finger, "man makes his own luck -- and I made mine real good. Got my hands on three bottles of liqueur exquise, sold two to the fellows around here and immediately invested the profit."

"Bought cigarettes, bought beer, even bought a bit of speed. And look at me now... I got everyone on my hook." He spreads his arms and smiles a crooked toothless smile.

The hook -- where is it? I can't see it.

"Impressive entrepreneurship." (Point to his vice-stand.) "I approve."

"Mhm -- hook 'em and cook 'em, huh? You wanna buy something? Let's keep it moving."

"I'm already hooking for Cuno... I think."

"Seriously?" The lieutenant closes his eyes and pinches the root of his nose. "Are you?"

"I'm sorry, Kim. I just wanted to see what happens, if I say it."

"Fine," he sighs.

The fresh entrepreneur has forgotten your presence and is now trying to count a small number of coins in his hand.

There's reál, fifty in his palm.

... and the lieutenant is annoyed.

"He said I'm his 'pig hooker' or something, whatever that is."

"Good, good, good," he repeats, nodding enthusiastically. "So you want this shit or not?"

"Got a permit for this little shit-show?"

"Permit?" He's not really listening. "Who gives a shit? You wanna buy something? Grease the wheels, buddy-boy."

"Looks like you're on your own hook, too."

"Of course, of course, of course..." The drunk raises his pilsner and nods. "It is what it is, you know? What it's always been. People, buddy-boy, it's the people."

He has long forgotten what you were talking about.

"Here's the money for the spirits."

"Whoaaa," he gasps as he hands you the bottle. "My investment hit big bank this time around... Look, Doom Spiral, look!"

"What?" The man in the dirty tracksuit turns his head. "Big bank?"

"The fella 'ere just gave me 300 reál for a bottle of spirits! Rosemary's playin' in the big league now!"

"High-concept business venture." The man nods. "Solid vision, stellar execution."

Bratan, I am so proud. Now -- whatever you do, don't drink it. This deserves so much more than just regular oral consumption.

The tie is SO on the money there! Up the bum it goes!

Okay, right. We're putting it in the bum!

Who said anything about putting it up there? No, we're gonna put it in a way more special place. Soooo special. Now just step away from the old man and let's have a little word alone, just you and me.

Soon. The time will come soon. Have patience, brave one.