The room is in boxes. The room that itself is a large box, perhaps 9’x9’x9′. Not quite that exact. Not a cube room, but certainly a three dimensional quadrangle of sorts, on average. Long weekend, good music, better beer, and a possessed life all packed into brown containers.
Faint memories of Havana. I’ve got a couple dozen of 4″x6″ prints on my cubicle wall at work. The official selections, curated by amigos fotografias, and some for comparison. Can’t say much has come from the casual observation of my own work except for passive admiration and shallow conversations with colleagues.
But back to above. There are no aboves like this in dear America. It’s … it would be a marketing ploy by a trendy upcoming women’s cocktail mixer brand or something. But not an honest-to-god taxi driver, just making the daily dough in his prized automobile.
No cars here, only unreliable Red Lines.