havananights * (1)

"Well, Whataya wanna know officer?" A collected somewhat
cocky young man muttered. He displayed an intriguing,
aloof mystery about him. More like a James Dean,
Rebel Without A Cause, type character. A lit cigarette
dangled from his mouth. The smoke passed over his
piercing eyes, reaching endlessly towards the afternoon
sky. He nonchalantly leaned against the front driver's
side fender of his polished, black, classic 1969 model SS
Camaro. I knew, gathering from his mannerisms he offered
no intention of genuine cooperation.