the cannibal in Cordoba

This is the story of when Lorena and I went to visit Cordoba, and it was the weekend of a festival, and we hadn't made any hostel reservations and everywhere was full, and so we ended up staying with a cannibal.

Lorena doesn't think she was a cannibal, but I am most certain that she was.

"I know a cannibal when I see one," I told Lorena.

We had arrived at the Cordoba bus station at 6, and by 11 we were on the verge of tears in a hostel lobby.

"Can't we just sleep in the corner, behind that plant?" We pleaded. "We'll pay you the price for a room. No one will even know we're there!"

The young man just turned his palms up. There was nothing he could do.

We heaved our bags back to the street and stood staring hopelessly up at the sky.

"Looks like we'll just have to go find an empty bench at the train station," said Lorena. "We can take turns sleeping." 

"OR," I proposed, "We can just go to a bar, get really drunk, and see what happens!" 

Lorena seemed to be contemplating it when an older man approached us.

"Do you girls still need a room?" He asked, sidelong. 

We exchanged looks. What did he have in mind? 

"There's a woman across the street," he said. "Her name is Pilar. We have sort of an... arrangement with her for when the hostel is full... she takes in