On the Virgin’s Day, The Poet Was Listening to Boleros / Iván García
I saw him. I’m sure it was him. He didn’t recognize me, absorbed in himself as he was, sitting in a bar on Belascoaín Street, listening to Olga Guillot on a decrepit RCA Victrola. It was four in the afternoon on September 8th. A desert sun seemed like it was going to melt the Havana … Continue reading “On the Virgin’s Day, The Poet Was Listening to Boleros / Iván García”