Julio the Hustler

Julio the Hustler spots his mark from across Plaza de Armas. A distinguished looking backpacker from Australia wearing Adidas high tops that have transformed from a vibrant white to a dull orange. Perfect time to strike: While distracted by the Quachan Lady with the baby lamb, and the Peruvian 'student of art' he makes his move. Slides in like an electric window. With the precision of a Surgeon.
"Clean Shoes, un sol"
Ambushed! The mark hesitates.
"No Gracia"
Engineered and practised. Refined and honed.
"My friend shoes Un Sol"
Julio waves his little brush. Julio knows that with the hang dog look and defeated posture he can wear away at anyone's consciousness. Drawn in, feeling hopeless and pestered, the mark agrees.
"Ok un sol"
Julio the Hustler rattles into action. One foot up on the little step, brush, rubbing alcohol, with a renewed air of enthusiasm he moves. This is his work, his craft. And its not cleaning shoes. He knows how to look, what to say, he knows this because every other shoe boy knows this. The orchestration is beautiful. After the rubbing alcohol wipes away the scars of the streets of Cuzco, Julio the Hustler gets to work with a white paint. Applying liberal amounts to the marks shoes. Julio holds up the bottle. "This special". Julio, perhaps showing compassion, just gave the mark his first warning. Julio keeps working away. The shoes morph from the dusty orange back to a bright white.
Julio justifies the service.
"Clean shoes many chicas at Mama Afrika"
Julio reassures the mark. The mark left feeling a tad uncomfortable. Julio gets to work on the next shoe. He knows its too late for the mark to leave now. With one white shoe and one orange there will be no chicas. Not at Mama Afrika, not anywhere. Julio has the mark where he wants him. Holding up the little bottle of white paint. Enough beating around the bush. Time for the turn.
"This especial, 10 sols"
The mark is baffled. He coughs, chokes, if he was standing he would stumble. The park bench holds him still, but his head shakes in disbelief. The sickning feeling of defeat sweeps over the mark. He starts spitting random Spanish in a bid to regain the upper hand in this professional relationship. Exasperated the Mark admits defeat. No chicas would be terrible. Time to haggle. The last gasp of a desperate man. An agreement is reached on 5 sols. The mark pays Julio the Hustler. The mark pays respect to Julio the Hustler. Shakes his hand. Well played Julio. You truly are a hustler. At 14 years old.


Julio the Hustler


Before Julio Hustled


After Julio Hustled