My friend Dick Sneary and I decided to go paint old cars in Havana and wandered into the absolute most touristy part of town, which wasn't our intent. But Yoyo was insistent about his beautiful 1934 Ford convertible, and the sight lines were good on the traffic island on which we were perched (though Sneary nearly got taken out by one of the ubiquitous Cuban Tourism buses), and part way through, Yoyo bought us coffee. Who could complain?