Ramon Felipe, director of the Compacto group, is a good friend of mine from way back, since the ‘90s when I would walk and watch him head to Pinar every evening to sing at the Rumayor cabaret or someplace else.

He managed to get a contract with a Swedish music company over the years, and he would travel to the Scandinavian country frequently. The Pandemic messed everything up and he couldn’t travel anymore for some reason.

I ran into him on the highway recently, he was walking, and I asked him what was going on. He’d sold his car. I didn’t want to be tactless, so we talked about things like his music, my literature and other things.

Last week, he wrote to me:

“Do you know where I am?”

“In the USA,” I replied without pretending to be surprised because this news doesn’t surprise me anymore.

Abraham is another friend of mine, a young 22-year-old who managed to make a living as a mechanic and taxi driver. A very lively young man, the kind that lives life to the max. He hardly slept, as he spent his nights between prostitutes and alcohol.

“You can’t go on like this, you’ll look 80 by the time you’re 40,” I’d tell him, but he’d change the subject to talk about politics and criticize the Government.

Just like Ramon, he wrote to tell me he’s in Miami, having arrived in the US just before the Biden Administration’s new immigration policy took effect.