I had a real nasty churrasco sandwich today after Chess with the engineers at that campus’ cafeteria. That’ll be that.

As I headed back to the Metro via Parque O’Higgins I found a kiosk armed with little 250mL Classic bottles ready to wash that terrible taste out of my mouth.

I bought some Cheetos as well. I was hungry and I wanted a go-to because I had to . . . go . . . too. The small bag of Cheetos made it to the next trash can more than half-full. I’m sure some bum’s rainbow landed in that metal bucket eventually.

I was glad I had that Coke. There wasn’t much of it so I had to conserve. I took small sips by stalling my pace, pulling up to sniff the smog, and letting inertia guide the liquid into me. That’s refreshing.

I had some Coke and some smiles and felt better, good enough to get back to thinking. I like Coke. Coke is good. Coke is good in Chile. Come to think of it, Coke is good everywhere.

Yano, Coke is good everywhere because it’s the same everywhere. It might be a little sweeter here or more effervescent there, but the formula is generally consistent overall. That’s impressive.

Coke got righter with every mouth-half-ful. I couldn’t disagree with it. Coke is the one thing I have had everywhere I’ve been that I have been able to rely on. Everything else, in my experience, is inconsistent. It’s better than water. That’s commendable.