cuba child stack007

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Havana, the thirties.

Streets strolling out to the quays like women's legs. High houses, shuttered windows.
Banana trees on the Vedado. Openwork gates. Men in offices: American baseball caps and
fans. Cafes with colonnades painted blue; no shopfront or door, open to the four winds
(so to speak), as in all the cities of this planet that begins in Athens and ends in Asia, where
nothing is locked up but the women. Piles of watermelons, oranges and pineapples. Cigars,
sugar-cane stalks and obscene postcards. Pineapple juice in a pewter goblet half filled with
ice. Little black shoeshine boys. Dark skinned "courtesans," their faces covered with rosy
make-up. They click their tongues to call the clients. You clap your hands to call the waiter
(on my return I would acquire a bad reputation by repeating this gesture unconsciously in
Paris cafés). Banjo players, slow, sad melodies. Crocodiles in the ponds. Huge monkeys
in the public gardens

Which reminds me of the SINGER episode..