Night at the Peruvian Police Station

I don’t have my phone or my wallet. The guy next to me has an AK-47 and a Glock. I have a box of potatoes and rice. And 100 Soles. $27.

I’m at the Miraflores police station in Lima, writing in my head, a thing I do when I don’t have a phone in my hand. I’m waiting for the taxi driver to be done working at 10 o'clock. He has my phone, wallet, and keys. I’d really like them back. They fell out of the pocket of my gym shorts as I exited his taxi. I got out at the Japanese restaurant, walked in, reached in my pocket, and felt nothing. My eyes widened. I rummaged through my pack like a madman. Nothing. I ran outside. Nothing. Only escalating panic.

The manager of the restaurant, Francisco, spoke English and decided to help me. I used Francisco’s phone to log into Find My iPhone. We tracked the driver going deep into Lima, where the gringos don’t go. I set the phone to Lost mode. Francisco wrote a message to appear on the screen. It said, in Spanish, “This phone is lost. Call this number and …