Drove to Miami last night to see Una Noche at the Koubek Center in Little Havana. Arrived early so stopped on Calle Ocho and bought two bottles of Sidra El Gaitero.
It cost $5 to valet park. "You can park outside on the street," the valet said. "Last time I did that I got towed."
Inside, I asked when the Tower Theater renovations are scheduled to be completed.
"Who knows," a man told me. "They're being done by the city. The city always works slowly."
The film is about three young people in Havana who build a raft with dreams of rowing it to Miami.
On the way home I stopped for a beer. The people at the bar, in contrast to those in the film, seemed ecstatic to be where they were. The men around me had nothing interesting to say but said it very loudly, as if volume trumped cleverness (or masked its opposite). I sipped my beer and thought of my last dinner in Warsaw when a woman at a neighboring table turned to her restless child and made a sound I've not heard in an American restaurant in years: "Shhhh."
