Dark corners of a room seem to creep and reach out as the midnight clouds steal the last remaining shards of moonlight. Memories of smoky dreams are lost within your mind. Ruminating over the scent of mystery and nightfall, the fire you went through drifts along the air, the spices of heartache linger on the skin. Assured, you know morning will come, the darkness will subside, and the theory that everything remains dreadful will be smashed and broken.
It’s the smell of a walk through Old Havana in the evening, from the Hotel Sevilla to the Caseon del Tango for a dance lesson with Ketty and Felix. Wafts of coffee and tobacco, sweet, sugary desserts cooked with baskets of oranges and mangoes. The scent of peaches beginning to turn overripe, and citrus peel going squishy in the gutter. From a dark doorway a handsome man in white whispers, “Do you want a Cuban boyfriend?” and I speed up a little, squeaking “No! Thankyou very much for asking all the same!” And then the old Cubanos at the tango club greet us with smiles, songs, rum and kisses.