The weather in Toronto has been unseasonably cold and wet these past couple of days. Heading towards the middle of August, the thermometer quivers somewhere near 15°C. Strange. I suppose this makes me think of warmer places, sun-soaked instead of waterlogged.
This photo was a happy accident. We were on a bus to Havana, my eyes roving, happily clicking my shutter through a dusty window, wondering what I might get as we sped along the pot-holed highway. One man rode along with ease, while another pulled over to fix a chain or a wheel, or a spoke out of alignment. Almost comically duo-chromatic, this photo satisfies my need to coordinate. It's early-morning, the haze burning off over the inlet, Miami somewhere beyond that soupy horizon.
But what I see most is the man reaching into his breast pocket, I imagine pulling out a pack of cigarettes, surveying the damage to his bicycle, deciding what it needs to carry him on down the road. It looks like my Dad there on the Cuban coast. You see, to this day he'll only wear shirts with a pocket there over his heart, to carry his cigarettes. I'd recognize that reach anywhere.