Nothing like a little riot to make life interesting,» Carlos Monroy shouted as he picked up a brick and heaved it though the window of a liquor store.
Carlos wasn’t sure what the riot was about. People carried banners and shouted, «Down with the government,» or «Kill the governor.» The only thing Carlos was interested in was getting his hands on those three bottles of rum in the window.
Grabbing the first, he smashed off the top and gulped down the burning liquid. «Yeah. This is great. Kill the government!» He followed the surging throng as it swept along the streets of Bogota, Colombia. «Hang the leaders. Burn the capital!»
Then he downed the second bottle. «Hurrah for the revolution! Down with everything!» He was feeling pretty good about life as he polished off the third bottle.
Suddenly someone shouted, «The army’s coming. Soldiers! They’re shooting!»
The crackle of gunfire and screams of injured and dying people filled his alcohol-soaked brain. «Hang the revolution and kill the . . .»
Carlos slumped to the ground amid the victims of gunfire.
When he woke up, all was silent. He seemed to be in a room somewhere. «Hey, buddy, where are we?» he asked the man lying beside him. No answer. «Hey, you, what’s going on?» he queried another prone figure.
Suddenly he realized why he was the only one in the room talking. He was in the city morgue. Everyone else was dead!
«HEEEEEELP!» Carlos screamed.
«I’m not dead. Get me out of here. I’ll never drink again. I promise.» And he didn’t.