Drinking Mojitos in Cuba Libre

"My mojito in La Bodeguita. My daiquiri in El Floridita." A postcard of fidelity shaking hands with earnest money. Lost in the streets of Havana, gasping for breath como un pez sin agua. As hot as it is, as black as can be, as dark as this combustible star. Sí, hace calor, pero only turistas wear big brims or ultraviolet lenses. You hot? You thirsty? You buy us mojitos? You bring your yanqui dolor. We show our splendid squalor. Milk for baby, you give me dollar. You black, we black. See my scar from the war in Angola. Still working for a Cuba libre. Tropicola's sweeter than Coke. Mix rum and sugar with sweat of a slave. We work for pesos and beg for your stinking dollar. I'll show you where Hemingway wrote, the bar where he sipped his swizzle. You'll owe me a mojito. Que se vayan los gusanos. Crush with a pestle. Add rumba. Stir briskly with a drop of African blood.