Mercado negro

"The scene is a Buenos Aires city-centre side-street.
I stand pretending to look in a shop window until I catch the eye of a man loitering in a doorway. He acknowledges me with a wink and I sidle over. We talk without moving our lips.
“How much?”
“Six thirty five.”
“Deal. Give me five hundred.”
 With shifty glances over the shoulder, I complete the transaction and scurry away. Another day, another hit. Bizarrely, the prohibited substance we are trading is the US dollar. But how, in the glittering, cosmopolitan capital of a proud and prosperous nation, did it all get so sordid? How did we sink so low?

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