Just then one of the girls waved to us from the far end of the bar. It was a slow night and there was no one but us in the place. “N.S.L.” Mr. Josie said. “N.S.L.” I repeated ritually. “Constante,” Mr. Josie said. “Ernesto here wants a waiter. We’re going to order a couple of big rare steaks.” Constante smiled and raised his finger for a waiter. As we passed the girls to go into the dining room one of the girls put out her hand and I shook it and whispered solemnly in Spanish, “N.S.L.” “My God,” the other girl said. “They’re in politics and in a year like this.”
