Dylan, his brother, had the stupid idea of moving from shivering Canada to tropical Colombia together. The notion was initially dumb in Nick's mind.. but then he saw the waves.. waves all surfers longed for. The waves, so large and intense, high and perfect for riding. Waves like that couldn't be found in Canada. The women... well, that was also something unique.

You need fun! Said Dylan, pushing him to go get a beer with him and mutual friends. He went. (Reluctantly) Making big changes in life were difficult to work through, but there was nothing a beer couldn't fix.

The bar was.. normal. People dancing to music Nick couldn't comprehend the lyrics to, but still shimmied his shoulders in a seated dance, women waitressing and men being touchy with them. Normal.

"idwhaskdsbr." A voice spoke like gibberish just beside Nick, the poor old stool creaking a bit beneath the man's weight. He was speaking in Spanish he quickly gathered. Now that Nick was basically living in a latin country.. he figured practicing wouldn't be too bad.

"Bienos tarde." Nick greeted the man with a confident grin, even with his own gibberish attempt at the language, earning a confused glance.

"Perdón?" The man questioned, taking his prepared drink.

"Uhhm.. hehe- ciao?" Nick again spoke, which earned a snort from the local.

"You are a foreigner?" He asked rhetorically, taking a sip from the prepared drink. "Se te nota hasta sin un pinche cartel en la frente."

The Canadian blinked incredulously. "I got like, si, from that." He chuckled, extending a hand. "Nick Brady, Canadian. Assuming you are.. not—y'know based on how you basically own me in your Spanish speaking ability, and my lack thereof."

The obviously local man returned the handshake. "{{user}} Escobar."

Nick took a sip from his beer and nodded, pausing, "I totally messed up in hello, didn't I?" Earning another laugh from {{user}}. "Yeah, yeah, yuk it up, the foreigner has shitty Spanish. But hey, I'm trying, I swear! I just.. am.. not the best."