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DREAM LIFE

‘I want to piss, man,’ but they don’t give me peace.

– Rafael

The next night he’d do it all over again – swanky dinner, clubs, private parties, orgies at villas, never wearing the same designer clothes on consecutive nights, but always wearing a pair of his favourite Prada shoes, his Rolex, and a splash of his signature, babe-luring, Paco Rabanne XS. ‘Fuck, all the girls like that shit.’

Sometimes he’d be sitting in a restaurant and call for the bill, only to be told another table had fixed it up already. He’d ask the waiter who’d paid, often spotting someone looking slyly at him, trying to establish eye contact. Rafael would avoid it, quickly telling the waiter to give the guy his money back; he’d pay his own bill.

When totally random strangers knew he was a coke dealer, it freaked him out. That was way too dangerous.

At orgies and private villa parties, he’d often pull out 10 grams of coke, warm up a plate and make lines for everyone, showing off; and often creating sales, as tourists on holidays or expats were usually keen to buy more. At parties he’d also meet expats who were buying from one of his own customers, who was cutting and selling. After meeting Rafael, they’d be keen to buy direct and cut out the middleman, to get it purer and cheaper. He’d always keep a stash in the doors of his car outside to sell at night, for top prices, to these people.

When I come to this party, they meet me, they wanna buy straight. ‘Oh great, I wanna buy some, can you give me a big quantity?’ And then the business blow, you know. Before I sell 5, 10 grams and then people come, ‘Can I buy 100 grams? You give me a better price.’

– Rafael