The smell of stale cigarette smoke hit my nose as I turned the corner, exiting the walkway and taking my first steps onto Cuban soil. I immediately recognized the airport, as if I’d been there before.
The low, tiled ceilings.
The scattered fluorescent lighting.
The lingering smell of burning tobacco in the musky air.
It finally occurred to me where I had seen it. I remembered it like an old Las Vegas casino. I looked around and noticed more similarities.
The faded geometric patterns in the design.
The shabby walls and floors-not falling apart, but in serious need of a renovation, much like my previous apartment in downtown Denver.
Even the security attendants, without uniforms, were decked out like casino dealers. Heels, tight skirts, and cheap, bright lipstick made me wonder if I should throw down my bag or my bet.

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