When Worlds Collide

By petepunk

First Night in Cuba

Head still spinning from a day in the air, I take my first few tentative steps across the Prado. Not 100 yards from my hotel I'm accosted and sat down at a pavement cafe, where this chap wanders over. "Where you from?" he asks. "Escocia," I reply. He sits down across from me and starts strumming away. The little fella appears on his shoulder, making the whole scene seem slightly unreal."So, this is it," I think. "Havana".

image and words: pete thomson

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