Encouter with an Amsterdam Coke Dealer

''So, you're different from most of the other guys," I told him.
"Why's that?" he asked me with a smile, his gold tooth illuminating the whole train wagon.
''Because you approach people in the train, during broad daylight,'' I said.
I'd just gotten off the train from Germany, and was still rocking a swollen cheek (I fell into a fist), a Munich hat, and a half empty beer glass. Yes, I was still carrying around a glass that I forgot to return to a tent, but that's not important; I screamed tourist! And that's what he was looking for, someone that didn't look like a cop, that looked instead like a fun-loving guy.
So, I walked around Centraal Station after arriving from Germany and went to the platform that would take me to my place just outside of Amsterdam. I barely even noticed the guy next to me as I waited for the train to arrive. He was typical Dutch: blond hair, blue eyes, 6'4'', and well dressed. He motioned my way and said, "I like your hat."
I noticed his gold tooth, and it immediately changed my perception of him. All those Hollywood movies brought back images of a guy  saying in Ebonics, "hey mamacita, how's it going!?" But since we were in Holland where everyone is nice, I said, "Why, thank you." Overall, he had a bright, radiant smile that just screamed goofiness and innocence, so I didn't really mind him approaching me out of the blue and chatting up. At first it seemed like he was the one interviewing me, trying to make sure that I wasn't a cop.
''So, where you from?'' he asked. I prefer to identify myself exclusively as Dominican when in a sketchy situation. I've come to learn by now that people immediately want to take you for a ride when they think you're just an SVA -- a Stupid Visiting America.
"I'm Dominican," I said with a smile, just as soon as my newfound friend started busting out Spanish. The dude was extremely intelligent. In the process of telling me how he picked up Spanish, I learned that he was fluent in 6 languages. I only live 10 minutes away from Centraal Station, so our conversation would be brief, and I wanted to make the most of it.
We discussed current events, and he seemed to be more knowledgeable than most of the people I knew at Yale. A typical Amsterdam guy was talking to me about American legislation that most Americans would probably never even know exist. As soon as I told him I was a writer, he asked me to write a book about him. I said of course. And then he said: "I sell things for the nose."
I couldn't stop laughing. This guy had chatted me up on the train, just to tell me that he was "selling things for the nose." In a way, though, I realized that this guy was intelligent and charming enough to be a CEO. And hell, if he didn't have a gold tooth, maybe I wouldn't have trusted him to be an actual nose thing seller. In the world of ''decent'' people, his gold tooth makes him an outsider, but in his line of business, it's tantamount to a badge.
''I can't imagine you spend your days working the train," I told him.
"Nah, I can come to your house, I mostly do that. I'm just expanding at the moment. 3 or 4 more regulars, and I'm out of the trains. A few more months after that, and I give my business to a friend," he told me. I got the distinct impression that by ''friend'' he meant a guy working under him. By now he's probably shielded and behind some guys. Hell, if he's smart, he's probably removed his badge and gone undercover.
"This is your stop," he said. I started getting ready to get off the train just before I asked him: "So, how you get into this?"
He told me that his father did it and sorta just nodded confused. And there everything stood explained: he was just enjoying a game his father enjoyed.