El Generoso offers me time for embellishment, and I mistake his generosity for god-knows-what other invitation. I have committed the ultimate sin of letting my mind wander, and I am dangling my foot off by his side somewhere, lost and out of synch with Adiós Nonino. We look at each other, and we are struck by wondrous mirth.
'The rules of the milonga say we can't talk,' I scold mildly.
His eyes are merry, and the right one winks. 'But nothing says we can't laugh.'
And he dances me off into the twilight of the hall and into the quick step of Gardel's Canchero.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment