If one checks the Reddit reviews in Brooklyn, they might highlight the world-famous pizza, the multi-million dollar brownstones, or the hipster baristas who silently judge your coffee order (and your clothes, your voice, don’t get them started on your shoes). They rarely mention the doody-brown brick of Sunset Park’s waterfront. It is here that the world’s least popular power couple has just checked in.
Related: How the US deleted Venezuela’s air defenses so quickly (and why the real war might be starting)
Nicolas Maduro and Cilia Flores, formerly the President and “First Combatant” of Venezuela, have finally traded the opulent lifestyle of Miraflores Palace for the “cocaine chic” of the Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC), where only six inmates died in 2025 (we’re pretty sure it was only six).
Most dictators, when the walls start closing in, flee to a non-extradition villa in a tropical haven or luxury living in Moscow. The Maduros, however, have opted for an involuntary all-inclusive stay at the Federal Bureau of Prisons.
The arrival was less “red carpet” and more “heavily armed convoy.” There were no adoring crowds waving flags, unless you count the federal agents waving MP5s, which, to be fair, is a type of greeting in these parts of New York. The couple has been separated for their stay, likely due to a booking error by the Department of Justice, or perhaps just standard operating procedure for international narco-terrorism indictments. Rest assured, neither will be lonely; the MDC will provide new friends… perhaps new love will bloom?
Video captures inmate fight at MDC
The Accommodations
Let’s talk about the rooms. The “Presidential Suite” at the MDC is currently unavailable, likely occupied by a guy named “El Pollo Loco” who is awaiting trial for petty theft and massive money laundering. Instead, Nicolas has been placed in the Special Housing Unit (SHU). It’s an exclusive wing, designed for high-profile guests who require 23 hours of quiet, solitary meditative time per day.
The walls are a soothing shade of institutional gray. Is that crown molding you see? Nope, that’s stainless steel fixtures that double as a toilet and a sink. Efficiency is key at the MDC. Why walk to the bathroom when you can sleep two feet away from it?
The bed is a steel block bolted to a wall; on top is a mattress roughly as thick as a freshly used yoga mat. If you didn’t have back problems before, you’ll learn to appreciate that blissful ignorance fully.
And the climate? Exceptional. The MDC is famous for its “Out of Order” notices. During the winter, the heating system somehow never works properly, leaving inmates to sit and shiver in their shame, while guards play Madden in tropical warmth. It’s basically cryotherapy, which is all the rage in Hollywood these days. Nicolas is getting it for free… Lucky.
Dining Options
A luxury stay without fine dining options. Back in Caracas, Maduro was known for enjoying an empanada on live television while his countrymen scavenged for scraps. The universe, possessing a twisted sense of irony, has returned the favor with interest.
The menu at MDC Brooklyn has options aplenty, though it is not known for their cuisine’s flavor profile. It is, however, known for its “liveliness.” Let’s just say the MDC has been experimenting with how its guests meet their protein requirements.
Inmates have frequently reported that the food trays often come with uninvited guests: roaches. It’s undoubtedly a culinary choice; aggressive, crunchy texture that really ignites the palate. The bread often comes with a side of green mold, providing that rustic quality one usually pays extra for at fine cheese shops or restaurants.
But it’s the roaches that truly define the dining experience: sentient condiments. When Nicolas sits down to his lukewarm mystery meat that tastes like the tears of a thousand inmates, he isn’t eating alone. He’s sharing his meal with the true owners of the facility. The OGs.
There is no room service here; the days of berating staff are effectively over. There is only a slot in the steel door and a tray that requires a thorough inspection before the first bite. He can’t offer money or jewels because he will be looked at like an old, broken ATM with money half hanging out.
If Mr. Maduro wants a snack that doesn’t have a mind of its own, he’ll have to negotiate. The currency he is now working with is packets of mackerel fillets, which are the new pack of smokes. Maybe ramen noodles or postage stamps will get you something… or, you can turn to, let’s say, less savory options.
Meet the Neighbors
While Nicolas enjoys the solitude of administrative segregation, Cilia Flores is also getting the authentic experience. She’s in a terrifyingly small cell compared to her usual spacious living quarters, and with her precious little outside time, she may have even made a new friend… let’s call her “Roxanne.”
Roxanne is not a socialite; she does not care about the Bolivarian Revolution. She can’t spell “U.S. sanctions”; she will try to calculate the price of crude on her fingers and toes. Roxanne is currently serving time for distributing something that definitely wasn’t humanitarian aid. Roxanne has been here enough times to know the specific sounds the different pipes make, the shift changes of the guards, and exactly which COs can be pacified with Sour Gummy Worms.
The dynamic is actually fascinating to imagine. Cilia trying to explain her views on American Imperialism; Roxanne explaining that if Cilia doesn’t flush the toilet after three pulls, the plumbing backs up into the cell next door, and those ladies don’t f-around.
There are also rules of the house that need to be adhered to: Don’t touch Roxanne’s commissary stash, don’t look Roxanne in the eyes when she’s doing “number two”, but do look into them when she goes “number one”.
This isn’t a political debate; it’s just survival at this point. Cilia is learning that in the MDC ecosystem, a former First Lady ranks somewhere below the lady who knows how to do cheap fades.
The Daily Itinerary
The only adventure available in this package is a scenic drive to the Southern District of New York. It involves being shackled, shuffled into a van with no windows, and driven through traffic to sit in a freezing holding cell, all while wearing cheap athletic clothes and sandals with socks.
There are no speeches from the balcony here, guys and gals. There are no rallies to rile up the impoverished. There is just a federal judge who looks at the indictment, charges of flooding the U.S. with cocaine and weaponizing the state, and remains unimpressed by your previous job titles. The courtroom sketches will capture a man who looks smaller, grayer, and significantly less defiant than he did on all those posters in Caracas.
Wise men once said: “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.” For these two, it’s not quite the case, but they will leave a piece of their souls in those cells forever. Late checkouts are not permitted, but early departures are impossible. The Maduros are looking at an extended stay, likely followed by a transfer to a “long-term care facility” like ADX Florence, where mental toughness is worth more than gold.
So, welcome to Brooklyn, Nicolas and Cilia. Enjoy the local sights, sounds, and smells. Watch out for the crunch in that bread. Listen to Roxanne’s advice about the toilet. It’s not the palace, but looking at the bright side, at least the rent is free.
