At the bottom of a cement glen, by the banks of the canal, there’s a tiny store that sells green plantains, cola and cigarettes. But they are out of plantains.
The woman who tends the store, who goes by Xiomara, often has to fight the urge to run away. She compares the desire to escape to something taking over her body.
“I’ll be fine and then from one minute to the next, I want to get out," Xiomara says. "I just want to go. I want out. I need to leave.”
When she gets this way she lights up a smoke and maybe watches some TV.