Milongas and shoes

I listen to a song once. A verse grabs my attention. I fall in love with it. It happens so fast, in the middle of a milonga, with a stranger holding me. I feel the truth of the song. I feel its identity. More than that, I feel how much it’s pertinent. After all, as the song says, we were just two failures that loved each other.

The milongas carry a little bit of a Buenos Aires-ish flair that I love.

I’m finally coming to a friendly agreement with my very expensive dancing shoes. Now I know what was wrong. I danced an entire class with my Darcos last night for the very first time. They’re actually comfortable and the stability problem was partly solved by my teacher. Then she said I should take them to a shoe repair store to get the other problem fixed, which I did this morning.

I love my neighborhood shoe repair store. The guy who works there fixed my fancy shoes in one second and didn’t even charge me for that. He cleaned the other pair, my favorite pair of shoes for dancing, and he’ll add leather sole to them as well. I can't wait to pick them up on Thursday.