| Decaying paint-peeled buildings skirt the
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| | day of post-Revolution life.Sweeping
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| mayhem of the city's once grand avenues
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| | around a corner, you'll see rusty farmers
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| and plazas, all the way into Centro
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| | aboard their hobbling donkeys amble past
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| Habana. Tiny Russian Ladas scamper past
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| | elderly rocking chair gossips, fanning
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| enormous American Fords, Chevy's and
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| | themselves under oppressive midday heat.
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| Cadillac's of the 1950's. Dueling horns
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| | Sassy young chicas in electric spandex
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| blast as cabbies weave their latest
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| | body stockings and micro mini's strut
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| shipment of gringos between rickety
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| | with mock contempt past the leering gaze
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| bicycles, plodding horses, tottering
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| | of brooding hombres prowling the street
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| carts, and steaming food stalls. Amongst
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| | corners. School kids laugh, play, flirt,
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| it all, the eclectic Havanians, hustle,
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| | and tease, comically mimicking them all.
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| bustle, linger and loiter through another
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