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SNOWING IN BALI

there, give the coke, take the money, bye-bye. Not big deals, just small deals. Marco was dealing Lemon Juice like candy. No fear.

- Rafael

Sprawled on the sand in front of the club were rows of Balinese jakung fishing boats, as well as Lemon Juice boss Marco's inflatable rubber Zodiac. He zoomed around Bali in it to avoid the choked and potholed roads. Most days he took the guys out to the best surf spots, with their five or six surfboards stacked and tied on the front. Marco, a hang-gliding professional but not a great surfer, often stayed in the boat snapping photos of the guys riding barrels. After a couple of hours, they'd pull up anchor and tear back to the club. There, Marco loved playing host, selling his Lemon Juice, standing at the barbecue with a beer in one hand, tongs in the other, cooking fish and lobsters caught that morning, while puffing on a Lemon Juice joint. All around, Balinese and westerners were smoking Lemon Juice, but it didn't stop Marco singing out, 'Come, come to eat,' to random girls walking past on the beach.

It was full of beautiful people at the club. Beautiful girls - Russians, Australians, Swedish, always some Brazilian girls - come with small bikinis, lay down, their big ass up. Everyone topless, beautiful.

- Rafael

Marco's phone rang incessantly, with surfers, expats, or tourists with connections, wanting to buy Lemon Juice. Often he'd brusquely answer, 'I'm fucking busy today, I'm in a business meeting, call tomorrow,' snapping shut the phone to a round of laughs as he sat back down, smoking dope and drinking his beer.

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