A woman waits for a barred apartment house door to open, while another resident gazes out over the sea from the balcony overhead. Neither seems to acknowledge each other’s presence. The woman’s arm is cocked over her hip, letting everyone know that she is waiting, somewhat impatiently, to be admitted. The man’s hands are folded under his chin – his mind is elsewhere at the moment. Between them sprawls Havana in microcosm – ornamental grillwork, potted plants, carved wooden doors and shutters, and on the upper level, the inevitable fading paint.