After three flights of stairs I arrived at a nondescript door to an apartment. I had been given the address by a friend of my neighbour. I knocked gingerly. The door opened a crack: “Sí?”, asked a pair of eyes semi obscured by shadow.
“Eeee, Jorge?”, I asked.
“Who wants to know?”
“Elio sent me. He says you might have some… um…” I dropped my voice to a whisper, “cheese”.
Jorge looked behind me, then opened the door enough for me to come inside. He lead me into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Reaching so far into the back that the side of his face pressed up against the frame, he removed a parcel covered in an old copy of Granma, the national newspaper. There was just over half a wheel of cheese left. [Read more…]