Autonomika, Autonomika!

Outside the boys and men walk with shirts open to the waist in the middle of the street as the light settles in over the broken building tops and empty cans of beer that stand in attention across the street from the local branch of the Committee for Defense of the Revolution. They walk silently, almost in defiance of the constant thrum of noise and music that erupts from every open doorway and window for miles. It’s Monday morning and music must be played and rum must be drunk and there are white women to impress on the Malecón and there are Estonians swaying to Bésame Mucho on the Prado and every where tourists take snap shots on Japanese cameras of Spanish era buildings that crumble in Caribbean sea air. And all this is happening. Read More