I worked with a guy who'd grown up in Miami. He played in his high school band, so the school gave the band members a nice graduation present: a trip to (pre-Castro) Havana. He said that the moment he and the others got off the ferry, they were surrounded by touts trying to steer them to sex shows..."just like Superman."

My wife and I were walking, arm in arm, down the Boulevard in Vegas one crowded night in 1994, and every five feet, sketchy-looking guys were shoving flyers into my hand shilling for "escort services--to your hotel room...no intermediaries [pimps]...all credit cards accepted." Jeez, a harmless old couple like us, looking like we were heading to the nearest Social Security office.