The headlights of a delivery truck cut through the darkness of a Caracas slum. It is the signal. Doors open, and shadows rush into the street to form a line, even before knowing what is inside. It doesn't matter. In a country that beats to the rhythm of “there is none,” if a truck arrives, you stand in line.

Economists struggle to measure the void. On the streets, if you go out to buy ten basic products, you will only find two. This vacuum created a new trade: bachaqueo. Named after the bachaco—a fierce ant capable of carrying heavy loads—the bachaquero is an artisan of the black market.

Yuli is 24. She is a manicurist, but she didn't go to work today. She spent seven hours in a line to buy deodorant and shampoo. She sold the combo for 20,000 bolivars. In one morning of waiting, she earned the equivalent of doing 40 pedicures.

“I’m an expert at doing business,” she says, exhausted, preparing to sleep for a whole day to recover from the beating of the wait.

But Yuli cannot repeat the operation tomorrow. The government has established a strict rationing system based on ID numbers.

The routine forces everyone out of their offices and jobs one day a week to hunt for whatever the truck brought that day.