A chipped building, eaten away by moisture, with plants growing wild on the cornices. In the columns, several slogans on the dirty white that seem recent: “Long live the CDRs” (Committees for the Defense of the Revolution), “Long live the 9th [sic] Congress “(of the Communist Party of Cuba, PCC),” Viva el PCC “,” Viva Fidel “.
Nothing seems alive, however, inside the building. It is empty? It looks dark and inhospitable. At the door, a red motorcycle is the only sign of modern life. Maybe one of those State Security agents that swarm there these days through Havana. Perhaps he is stationed on a nearby corner to prevent a citizen suspected of being an activist, practicing independent journalism, or simply thinking differently from leaving the street.
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