Our nights are distinguished by a heat that suggests hell, the one that is also very hot and very dark.
Havana, Cuba. – Havana nights always had charms for pile, but that was a long time ago. The nights of now not resemble those of yesteryear, those that invited the walk, to the healthy recreation; Nothing is the same. Today’s nights have a very particular distinction. Reading at night and in bed is impossible.
Reading at night, before sleeping it was a custom of not a few Cubans; Marking the last page read was a guarantee of continuity, of huge enjoyment. Reiniciar the reading was a big party, but it is not always achieved now, in these times. The fluidity of reading is undone in a jiffy, and guilt, most of the time it has to do with the darkness that flows invading all spaces.
Close the book on the last page read, or for finishing reading, it could be impossible, a misfortune because most of the time we could not find the score we had left close to indicate the page of the restart of reading, and the same usually happens to those who watch a television serial or a movie on television. All dark, goodbye function.
Havanera night is no longer good for healthy recreation: “The street is bad.” Citadine life becomes increasingly dangerous. Crime grows and is eassed, and there are few victims who find their worst misfortune in the most visible sites of the city, even in the neighborhood itself, when they almost managed to open the door of the house. Almost to save you, someone who throws you to the ground appears and asks you, with the greatest tranquility, that you give him everything you have. And you without achieving the solidarity that was previously more common.
Havana nights are dangerous, the same if you go to the pharmacy as if you make the way to the theater that lost the light at the time the curtain should open and start the function, or only 15 minutes of closing the curtains. The Havana nights are very dangerous, and much more if we are alone and the view of the so many robbers who are running in despair to find their next victim, that which could be a young man who returned home after visiting the bride.
Our nights are distinguished by a heat that suggests hell, the one that is also very hot and very dark. Our nights are no longer for movies. Our nights are to look at the clock and know how many minutes, even seconds, we will have light or some image on the TV screen. Cuban nights are flatly dark. Our nights, our lives, no longer show any subtlety. Our nights are dark, sweaty.
