The Glorified Gypsy
The travel writings of a vagabundo
Claudia answered the door in a silky back dressing gown, dishevelled black hair tied up in a bun, and heavy makeup. The gown was tied low, revealing a sun damaged cleavage, while a chunky thigh poked out coquettishly towards us. A strong smell of perfume billowed out from the apartment. Despite these obvious alarm bells we heeded the siren’s call and followed her beckoning hand inside.
Read MoreHe broke off our gaze to thump at the door again.
“Maria!” he bellowed. “Abre la puerte!”
A loud but indecipherable female voice barked back. A chain lock jangled inside and the door swung open. A thin woman stood in the doorway, her hand on her hip. She was barefoot, wore a pink faux-leather miniskirt and green vest which she had rolled up above her small pot belly. A trail of thin black hair stretched from the waistband of her skirt to her exposed navel.
Read MoreHe introduced himself as Tony Montana, an ugly grin on his face. “Say hello to my little friend,” he quipped.
I smiled politely.
“You ‘ave seen Scarface?” he asked, unsure by my reaction.
“Claro,” I said. “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse,” I effortlessly mimicked, quoting another famous line.
Tony was unmoved.
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