The people of Medellin smile at me with white smiles every day from behind a counter, down a supermarket aisle, at a table in a restaurant, passing in the street, or looking from the other side of the Metro platform. Beautiful people with perfect figures, and a wardrobe consisting only of figure flaunting outfits seem to see something special in us few blue eyed, pale skinned people that venture out into the publics view. Occasionaly someone will approach me and ask me where I am from, or complement me on looking the way that a common kiwi boy does. Whistles and suggestive words ring from crowds outside bars as we conspicuously weave between the waves of turning heads, and then we seem to be set upon a stage in a spotlight as we try to
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