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Thread: Aliens In Cuba.

  1. #1
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    Aliens In Cuba.

    Meanwhile, back in the La Bodeguita del Medio bar in Havana, Hemingway was engaged, in what initially was a meaningful tete a tete with Marlon Brando.

    A half-emptied bottle of Santiago De Cuba Anejo stood on the table between them.

    They had been drinking since noon, and in the launderette across the narrow street outside Belita was singing a traditional salsa number, as she scrubbed the smalls of underwear from the police station next door.

    “Besame, besame mucho. Como si fuera esta noche la ultima vez. Lalalalala.”

    “What have I ever done to deserve such disrespect?” asked Brando in a rhetorical manner to no one in particular. The pretzels accompanying the rum were getting caught in his teeth, making his demeanour even more dour than usual.

    “Wanna arm wrestle?” asked Papa.

    The question was ignored and the barman became more apprehensive of rowdy behaviour.

    “Back in Illinois, we used to wrestle at an early age,” growled Hemingway.

    “But you’re not from Illinois,” said Brando.

    “Which planet are you from?”

    “I don’t know what you mean. I was born in Oak Park, Illinois,”

    “No, you weren’t. I ran an intergalactic probe over you ten minutes ago and you are not from Earth. Where are you from?”

    Hemingway viewed him from beneath bushy eyebrows.

    “I’m from Neptune running tourist shuttle tours in human form. And you?”

    Brando picked another piece of pretzel from his teeth.

    A two man horse entered to use the bathroom. The barman shrugged and muttered to himself “It’s gonna be a one of those days!!”

    Brando by now had picked up a cat and was stroking it on his lap.

    “Let’s face it, you had no need for drinking partners like me. You made a good living from your writing on Earth and are an alien much respected on Neptune.”

    “But now you come and drink with me, not telling me who you really are.”

    “You don’t even think to call me Godfather.”

    In the toilet, the horse dismantled into two sections was considering with trepidation, the logistics of using a Cuban squat toilet and hand spray.

    Across the street Belita had come across a pair of Y fronts with horrific skid marks embedded.

    “Yo soy un hombre sincero
    De donde crece la palma
    Y antes de morirme quiero
    Echar mis versos del alma
    Guantanamera, guajira, Guantanamera”

  2. #2
    On the road, but not! Danik 2016's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2016
    Beyond nowhere
    This story makes me long for Havana. Have been there once in the nineties.

    Just a bit of musical background:
    #Stay home as much as you can and stay well

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