A BOOKSTORE IN CUBA Anonymous

A run-down villa the rain has stopped Havana unveils herself damp railings, planks, columns an unfinished project lay untreated, unvarnished from the smashed window one can see the endless piles of paper knowledge

Inside, the shadows of an old and broken system disappear through the doorway lies a mountain a brave climber takes on this mighty feat in doing so, he retrieves a paper relic, one stuck right beneath the summit for years past this adventurer, very determined and mad, knows the descent well and doesn’t falter he is followed by the dogs he brought home, like the people the country forgot who, at the bottom, await his words

Once another title is sold, the man grabs a humored one, maybe a little less stern than an outlawed book I thank him profusely, so does the group

This archivist of all human stories, who has survived the wrath of the absolute tyrant, harvesting and illegally selling knowledge since he was young, a man with nothing else but books and dogs, bestowed this generous gift to me I’ll never forget what it means.