The Incident on the Highway On our last morning in Havana, my husband and I squeezed into the front seat of an old 1950s Ford, our colectivo taxi to Viñales. After two days going around Havana in old taxis in varying states of disrepair, the Cubans ability to make old cars run on old parts …
When I was younger, I hated old things. My immigrant parents had to make every hard-earned dollar go far: our apartment was entirely furnished with yard sale finds or free castoffs found on the sidewalk, my clothes were mostly secondhand but of the non-stylish variety, I played with old toys, we drove old cars. I …
milkywaypicnic 