7:30am. A chilly January morning in West Tampa. A Latino neighborhood with some of the best Cuban food in the city. A man walks down the steps of his new residence. An updated 1950s house on the cobblestone intersection of Gomez Ave and Abdella Street. He's training for a half marathon race. He starts running up Gomez Ave, passing the old houses. His destination is a park trail named after baseball Hall of Famer Al ‘El Senor’ Lopez.

Al was born in Tampa in 1908, and raised in the ybor city neighborhood. His father immigrated from Cuba as a tobaquero, cigar maker. El Senor's first job was delivering cuban bread. He then became the first Tampon, local lingo designating a tampa native, to make it to the big leagues. He got his start playing in the Florida State League, for the Tampa Smokers. Makes you want to sip a cig and hit a homer.

Our friend takes a left onto Woodlawn Ave, facing the towering Raymond James Stadium. The 69,218 capacity stadium was built in the late 90s, and was proposed to be financed half by the city and half by the Buccaneers NFL franchise owner Malcolm Glazer. In a series of business bamboozlerie, Tampa ended up paying for the whole damn thing. For three seasons the Bucs shared the stadium with Tampa’s former Major League Soccer team, Tampa Bay Mutiny. The Mutiny was a financial disaster, losing its owners an estimated two-million dollars per season. Glazer was approached to buy out the Mutiny, but declined. Instead, Glazer acquired the Premier League’s Manchester United soccer team in 2005.

This Valentines day, the stadium will host Inter Miami, its first Major League Soccer game since the Mutiny folded. On the feast of St. Valentine, soccer hooligans will ditch their lovers to feast on their true love, Inter Miami's prized Lionel Messi. For some, this is retribution. Their sweethearts spent thousands of dollars last year to see their true love, Tayor Swift. The stadium sold out for two nights of Swift's Eras tour. The mega pop star broke the largest attendance record for the stadium. Previous record holders, Irish Rockers U2, are pissed.

Our running friend takes a right onto Himes Ave. As he passes the stadium, he relives a bittersweet memory. Just two days prior he was in the stadium, witnessing the Bucs lose their final game of the season to a field goal in the last 30 seconds of the 4th quarter. He's brought back to the present by a deep gurgled good morning from an old black man in an electric wheelchair. He reaches Al Lopez park. Pedestrians lightly sprinkle the trail. He begins to pick up speed. Two mile intervals, fast, with an 800m recovery. The sky is a cloudless pool of blue. The sun, smooching. The air, crispy. He and El Senor share Cuban blood. Perhaps this bond pushes him to a higher gear in this place. He hurls forward, swift, powerful.

An hour later, he rises back onto Gomez Ave. He enters the house with a post run high. Next, coffee. The kitchen fills with the whirl of coffee beans grinding. Then a sweet warm aroma. Fresh cuban bread toasts in the oven. He baptizes the coffee grounds with hot water. The nectar of the gods slips forth from filter to glass. He pours into mugs. Bread buttered, he ventures softly to the front porch. First course, a sip that melts body into soul. Second course, a crunch of bread. Third course, easy porch chats. Topics include books, gardening, and robots.