“I’m beginning to wonder if all this running is about to be negated somehow.” I sample my own cooking, nibbling the warm buttered bread, a corner of the pastelito de guayaba Orion hands over. It tastes like home. “Most Cuban cooks are on a mission to feed you until you can’t walk, breathe, hold normal conversations, or any combination of the three.” My shoulder springs up. “What you do with your body is your business. Sorry, not sorry.”
