I asked a young lady the other night what her job was and she said that she was a drug dealer in the Kalibata district of Indonesia’s capital city, Jakarta.

It was spoken in jest but I took her at her word.

She said that she had been interested in medicine ever since she went on a first aid course as a kid but she confessed to not having the ‘stomach’ to become a doctor or a nurse.

So she thought it would be okay if she pursued a healthy interest in drugs.

One day, she came home from school and told her unsuspecting parents that she wanted to be a drug dealer.

You can just imagine her parents reaction to what their thirteen year old daughter had just said.

A lock was put on the medicine cupboard within minutes and the young girl, always one to experiment with stuff, was viewed forever thereafter with suspicion.

Her parents were, however, a lot more receptive to their daughters ‘calling’, so to speak, when she made her grades at school and persuaded her parents to support her admission to Pharmaceutical College.

Her father might well have been a brain surgeon and her mother a cancer therapy specialist  but this was a ‘gal’ who had her head quite often between her knees but nevertheless firmly screwed on the right way.

Her first visitation into the world of narcotics was weaning her little Bro off the fags when he was ten years old and advising him that a little bit of the ‘white stuff’ would make his hair fall out.  Literally!

When it came to a boyfriend saying on a first date that he was on Viagra, it was time to crutch him and turn the other cheek.

Denver was, after all, just an ordinary teenager growing up in a shit-hole of a city in the third world (which was not third world at all but just thought it was or pretended it was).

And this teenage chick who was given Denver as a name because her parents got stuck for twenty-four hours at an airport of that name somewhere in the United States without ever getting to see the city.

God bless America!

In a gap year, she got to do voluntary work with poor kids in Africa (what was the name of the country again?) and she talked tougher than tough with Mexican drug barons who had no idea how to handle a drug dealer from an asian penitentiary called Kalibata somewhere on another planet.

Denver went to exotic pastures to know more about the sources of the drugs and to meet, incognito, the morons who marketed unlicensed pharmaceuticals for purely commercial gain, knowing they did more harm than good.

So much for the internet, thought Denver!

Then one day the prodigal lass grew up a bit, drew on her early years of experience …

And became the drug dealer she had always dreamed of.

In many ways she was the quiet assassin,the custodian of the Kill Pill.

Break the law and the laws of nature, you would have Denver to account to.

It was not just cosy and convenient but just plum plush and certainly handy that Denver opened her drug store smack bang next to the police station which handled the biggest jurisdiction of anti-drug law enforcement in the city of Jakarta.

Denver was ‘minting it’.

The little wench (and she was extraordinarily tiny for a lady of such stature) was on a roll and unstoppable.

She was the most popular chemist in town.

She was the Pharmaceutical Princess of Kalibata.

She was the Drug Baroness of Kalibata.

If I let you into a little secret, you won’t be able to have your cake – and eat it!

That’s the story of Denver.  Some story!


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