A large madman kicks the cars in the middle of Ayestarán Street. His clothes are ragged and on his arms you can see the “answering” scars received from some vehicles. Another lunatic walks around Central Havana offending the president and his brother, while a nutcase spits her dissatisfaction against three impassive police officers.
They make you want to enjoy the same impunity as the mad. You want to stand on the corner and shout, “The emperor has no clothes,” like a little boy would. But adulthood and sanity carry the burden of punishment.
Then we will behave like one demented or a child.