So yesterday I had to get some new keys made for our tweeny apartment. I stumbled across a little hardware store on Alton Road. It must have been there for decades because the cluttered store was full of merchandise covered in serveral years of dust and grime. Matching the store was the man who runs it. He must be around my grandfather's age, in his eighties and had white hair and a matching handle-bar mustache. Even though he must've been there for so long, he spoke practically no english (Miami is known as the capital of Latin America afterall). I managed to let him know that I needed two sets of new keys made and he revved up his ancient key copying machine. After he produced the keys he asked - well mimed - whether I would like a shot of cuban coffee. I thought this was such a great gesture. However when I came to pay he didn't have enough money in his register to give me change of $20 - so I gave him all the change I had but I was short about a dollar and fifty cents. I tried to go back at 5.30pm but he had closed up shop. I felt bad because it seemed like it was possible I may have been his only customer of the day. So one of my aims in the next couple of days is to go back and give him a couple of dollars. And I have to admit I enjoyed the whole Cuban hospitality so much that I'm glad I've got an excuse to go back.
ps apologies - spell chk nut wurcin agin