The streets in Havana were busier than usual, as people crowded around and received the news that Fulgencio Batista's ousting from power.
Cuba watched the crowds explode into chaos from the second storey of the old apartment building he had stayed in during the revolution. He'd learned from some of his neighbours that it was best to lay low when times became rough and he had followed their advice, posing as a regular civilian whom just happened to enjoy the occasional small talk and cigarette.
He found that his less than perfect appearance had often worked in his favour over the past five years, for the citizens of his country would simply pass him by without so much as a glance or a word of greeting.
It was a shame, he thought, that he would soon have to abandon that life and leave behind the small room he had grown so used to. He was going to have to become accustomed once again to being under the thumb of a politician and he prayed that they would be an improvement in comparison to Batista. He'd seen and heard enough gunfire lately.
Cuba was offered a cigar by his new boss and gladly accepted, despite the tense atmosphere in the room. They both smoked without looking at each other, until the bearded man cleared his throat.
"You can call me Fidel, if you prefer it."