There is a yellow t-shirt hanging in my closet in Chicago that proclaims in large, simple white font: actually, I’m in Havana. The shirt is too small for me, but I bought it anyway. I liked the way the word “actually” was in all lower-case letters, as if the phrase were just waiting to be tacked onto the end of any sentence. Because no matter what else I’m doing…actually, I’m in Havana.