He leaned into his partner, pressing forehead to forehead, closing his eyes; his partner placed a firm hand low on his back. The music started, and it was only them, in a long, dimly lit milonga, alone amid the twenty-odd other couples dancing tango. It was 1 am, on a Wednesday night. Somewhere in Buenos Aires. And I sat against the wall, mesmerized by this dance, wishing I were an experienced milonguero who, with the lift of an eyebrow, could invite a dancing partner from across the room to join me in a tanda, or session, of tangos. But that will have to wait for another time. For that moment, however, I was content to watch. The two men continued to dance, oblivious to all else. *** I am not sure I could have had a
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