I always used to say, “If I’m not working, I’m on vacation.” On a 29-degree workday, the closest I could come to a tropical getaway on my lunch break was to munch on a Cuban guava pastry (pastelito de guyaba compliments of a co-worker who just returned from Key West), bundle up in a winter coat, and trudge out to my car, where I enjoyed the sounds of Caribbean music while catching some rays through the sunroof and immersing myself in Treasure Island on my Kindle for an hour. That counts, right?

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