Running the Gauntlet through Venezuela´s own “Dusk-´till Dawn”..
Eyes follow us. Two gold-chained teenagers smirk. A black-maned woman beckons to us, her son screams over and over, “Here come the Britanicos”. We wince under his megaphone words and hide in a shred of dark shade under a sign, hanging, just, by one rusted nail. What have we done? Welcome to KM 88, the …
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