Havana. Cuba. The most bizarre and unexpected building in the city. A fourteen-storey tower that stands on the seafront boulevard, like a white monolith planted in the heart of the old colonial district. Strange tales are told about it. Gloomy gossip. Inside, the sounds of Cuban life echo in the stairwell. The old cleaning lady is talking to herself again. Pipes are leaking. The phone line is dead. As Cuba is bracing for a radical change, 51 Malecón comes as a snapshot of a society somehow stuck in time. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting.
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