I won’t lie: I’ve always wanted a pink mojito. I want to taste the Cadillacs of Havana with a sprig of Hemingway, cue the jazz because we’ll be up all night. The sunshine coats the rum. The sugar cane is in the air. No need to ask where we find the pink limes. They exist. Everything exists in this moment, no longer mine but ours.
With a pink mojito, anything is possible. We leave the probability to you.