In Venezuela, There’s a Day for Everything
I make myself a little coffee and some toast with butter and sit down to have breakfast before heading out with the gas cylinder.
I make myself a little coffee and some toast with butter and sit down to have breakfast before heading out with the gas cylinder.
Some suitcases are heavy because of the pounds they carry. Mine is heavy because of the stories I carry inside.
After stitching up my finger, the doctor asked me if I was going to need a seven-day medical leave certificate. I replied that I needed to make a call to my company.
Living this way eliminates any possibility of imagining a future and any chance of finding a moment of peace.
I am convinced that the most atrocious genocide could be carried out while the attention of every country is absorbed by whatever World Cup.
I was touched by much of what he said in brief questions and answers with different Cuban alternative media and local Miami press.
I read on a Facebook post about an irregular situation in Havana’s Playa municipality that drove an entire neighborhood block to desperation.
There is something profoundly Cuban about offering coffee even when there is very little left. It is about sharing what you have.
When I became a butcher, I knew I would have to face the band saw for the rest of my working life, unless I changed jobs.
The issue of class differences, which these days seems to be treated as something new and has sparked outrage not only among my friends…