Walking through historic Trinidad in central Cuba I catch sight of the mountains in the distance through the thick haze of heavy air. A solitary man walks along this cobblestone road, his brow damp with sweat. A horse and cart wait, at the ready, by the wayside. The townspeople gather along their stoops. They speak of fashion, of baseball, of art and culture and workplace frustrations, of all the minutia of everyday life. They all live their separate lives along this same road, all intrinsically connected, like the labyrinth of wires above, they are a community. This is their home.