I was spending a week at the beach with five of my friends. We had finished our university exams and went to Alicante to enjoy the summer, heat, and sun. We spent our days playing soccer on the beach, swimming in the pool, getting high while playing poker, and not much else.

In the apartment we had rented, we couldn't throw parties, and the landlord lived nearby and walked his dog in the area, so we couldn't ignore what he said and have a wild time there. So, we joined a party that a friend of ours had organized in the other part of the city. It was a really expensive chalet, located in a high-class residential area. It was quite far from our apartment, so we took an urban bus that dropped us off nearby.

After spending the night there, smoking and drinking like crazy, and having our ears ringing from the music, it was already 4 in the morning, and I wanted to leave. My friends are crazy, and they wanted to stay until dawn and return in the morning, even talking about eating churros with chocolate when the sun rose (something very typical at parties in southern Spain, or at least where I live). What a surprise I was in for when I discovered that I was also going to see a churro, and one with chocolate, precisely.

I left the house and went to look for a taxi, a night bus, or something. I started walking, and everything was deserted. It's unbelievable that in a coastal area, in the middle of August, on a Saturday, there was such a lack of atmosphere. Maybe it was because the area was in the farthest part of the city, but the atmosphere was giving me a bad feeling. Just then, some headlights completely opened my eyes. It was a truck, passing right by the street I was on, and it looked like a bloody trailer. I didn't understand very well what a truck of that size was doing in an area like that, but I wasn't in the mood to think much because the alcohol and marijuana had already taken effect.

Maybe seeing me walk slowly or stumbling, the driver decided to stop and ask me, "Hello, friend, do you know how to get to Campoamor?" I couldn't see him very well, but at that moment, I started thinking if he was a Moor, black, or something like that, because not only was it dark, but I couldn't see his face very well either. I wasn't mistaken; he turned on the interior light of the truck when he saw I wasn't responding, and I could see that he was black.

"Did you hear me?" he asked again.

"Yes, sorry, I'm coming from a party, and I'm a bit blind. I have no idea where Campoamor is because I'm not from here, dude."

"Damn, I'm screwed," the man said.

At that moment, I don't know what was going through my head, but I hadn't realized that Campoamor was exactly the area where our apartment was. It was a great opportunity; I could get there for free, quickly, and safely if I asked the driver if he could take me.

"Whoa, I didn't remember; I have an apartment in Campoamor this week, and I di...