By Pedro Pablo Morejon
HAVANA TIMES – Once a week, I have to travel and endure the scourge of a chronic problem worsened by the rise in fuel prices. Transportation is now scarcer and more expensive.
I’ve been at this place on the road for two hours. There are people there since very early, around 40 of them. Finally, a state truck stops that would drop me off halfway. The driver charges an amount to transport us in a rickety dump truck. Almost everyone gets on, some heading to that destination and others, like me, to move ahead bit by bit.
When I get off, I become part of a group that joins the other group waiting under the sun that emerges from a sky that until recently was cloudy.
Minutes and hours pass, nothing happens, the sun intensifies, and the group of people grows. A man over 60 approaches, seems to know me, and indeed, he does. I start to remember him. It was September 1994, I had a few days off from military service, and
