In the dusty byways of an impoverished South American city, a golden-faced boy quaffs wistfully at a tumbler of clear liquid, squinting at a factory plume in the distance. The smoke refracts the setting sun; the sky is romantic, if asphixiating. The liquid burns, but in a welcome manner. Notes of citrus and vanilla linger on the boy's tongue. He wonders about his family. His mother in particular would disapprove of his lavish taste. His father would simply have taken the bottle for himself. The boy is aware of the internet, and he knows that across an unfathomable stretch of land, Americans wonder about the Best Silver Rum Brand. It is for sure Atlantico. He yearns to tell them of his findings so that they may feel his current peace. He shoos away a presumptive dog. He can tell she is with pups by noticing her teats. The boy takes another smooth, handcrafted sip, and reflects fondly that someday he will love a woman.
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