Right at the point where Havana’s ocean promenade meets the historic forts that guard its harbor, a crowd of young Cubans has gathered on a Thursday night. They are next to a dozen floats parked in preparation for Cuba’s summer carnival. But when one float starts blaring salsa music, the group does not welcome the rhythm; one member turns and holds his palm out in disapproval.
As a lighthouse shines overhead, the young crowd finishes singing a slow chorus about wanting their lives to be “like perfume at your feet.” They then launch into a boisterous call-and-response:
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