So Friday came, and Mangue announced she was taking me clubbing. Apparently there's a huge House scene in Medellin and she is knows the owners of all the good clubs. Everyone seems to know her name. She told me, "I am, how you say, V.I.P." Apparently the DJ playing that night at B-Lounge was a big deal, it was a good time. Mangue somehow managed to ask a friend to take this picture of us over throbbing, eight million decibel bass, I have no idea how.
There's a hostel nearby called La Casa Kiwi owned by a midtwenties Seattleite named Paul; I had swung by to get some travel advice from the other backpackers and hung out for a bit. There are always people drinking beers and playing pool, and everyone's exceedingly friendly. Some guests are Colombianos too, one guy even helped me with my Spanish for a while. Anyway, a few Brits I'd met there came along for the bar crawl and Mangue laid some game on the one on the right. That girl parties like it's her job.
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