The boys saw the humor that everyone else couldn't with my shirt. Hugo got nostalgic and threw on Dream a Little Dream. We smoked some cigars and drank some nice rum. Castro didn't want the night to end, and he sent some people out to get more films with the Coreys.
That's when things took a turn for the worse. Someone came back with National Lampoon's Last Resort. It was atrocious. Hugo, Castro, and I all sat there with dazed looks on our faces. Castro called the guy in that brought the film, and he pulled out a pistol and shot him. Things were getting heavy.
I tried to sneak out, but Chavez caught me and asked what I thought of G.W. Bush. I think he wanted me to call him the Great Satin or something. My first instinct in cases like that is to play Devil's Advocate and say what the person doesn't want me to say just for argument's sake. But I was in the Lion's Den, and I had no desire to stir the beast.
"He's a bad, bad man," I said.
He laughed and slapped me really hard on the back. I was worried I'd never make it out of there alive. They pulled out more rum and cigars, and got pissed when I wouldn't take as much as they did. I thought all hope was lost...
Then there was a phone call. I heard Castro say in Spanish:
"The Norwegian Embassy? Yes, we have Mads here. You want us to let him go? Fine, we'll help you out."
My country had not forgotten me! I was allowed to leave, on one condition: I leave my shirt. I relented without hesitation. In a place like this, you don't push your luck.
I was placed on a cruise ship bound for the Bahamas. I couldn't get a direct ship to the States because of that damned embargo. I thought about the invite from my Boston friend, and decided to book a flight there instead of hang in the Caribbean for a few days.
When I got my luggage in Logan, a man in a suit with a little cap held a sign that read "Mads, my Norwegian companion". It was good to be home.
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