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Tango at Bar Sur, Buenos Aires, Argentina by Hank
With flaming red lipstick, I feel sexier than ever.
I step into the bar filled with crowds of men in hats and vests with my sparkling heels; I steer away their stares with a luring smile. I toss my hair one last time and catch eyes with a young soul who smiled timidly. I tie it into a bun, as the crowd unease into anticipation of my performance. I let the chinchilla fur coat slide off my bare shoulders, leaving a trace of warmth into the atmosphere; I wink at the bartender, asking for the usual, whiskey with a twist of lemon. I sling it back and wait for my cue.
“Por una cabeza, todas las locuras, su boca que besa, borra la tristeza, calma la amargura...” (Losing by a head, there was all that madness; her mouth that kisses, wipes out the sadness, it soothes the bitterness.) He sings the story of my life.
I step into the checkered floor from the dark corner into the dim lit light with stance and elegance, along with the hands that will lead me in the dance of love.
He goes, I follow.
He stills. I seduce him with the touches of my gleaming stilettos.
A twist, a sway, a hop and I draw the eyes with every movement of my steps.
To the left, love me, love me, I know you can love me, he says with determined eyes.
I tap my left shoe, I’ll think about it.
He pushes me into a twirl, Fine, let me lead this dance then.
I spin back into his arms, You think you are leading?
He holds me tighter, Am I not?
I sink into the niche between his neck and shoulder, I guess you are.
Sometimes.
Triggers by my unspoken words, he brought us into endless spins, so close to the tables surrounding us, I can smell the sweat perforating off the crowd. I rest my hand onto one of the tables as to halt the dance, with a glance; he draws me back into the dance floor.
Oh let’s not argue darling, let’s dance.
Yes, we shall.
THUMP! As the music ends on a dramatic note, we pose for an invisible camera.
Still staring into each other’s eyes. We raise our arms to gather our breathes.
Applause. Applause. Applause.
With that ends my night of a passionate, heated and restrained argument with my lover.
In a city filled with balconies with wooden shutter French windows, I danced on the deserted streets with the beats of amor many times in my dreams. Until tonight.
Bar Sur, Calle Estado Unidoes, Cobblestones, barks, Corner shops with seats, men in suits drinking beer out of glass bottles, homeless on mattresses on street corners, my night was emotional and eventful, yet just as subtle as Tango, it was not to be told.
It was to be felt.
Kris
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