I visited a salsa club in a little corner of Roppongi, Tokyo’s party town, the black sheep of this traditional city.
I was astonished not only for the lights, but because to be absolutely honest, I haven’t been in a club in ages. My Saturdays nights are reserved for watching movies, relaxing readings, long warm baths, and shaving my mustache, just kidding, I shave it on Sunday nights, nothing better to fight the Monday blues than a smooth face. I’m all everything for beauty.
Anyway, there we were in this salsa club, my mustache and I, taking all in.
So many lights, and so many people dancing at the same time, as if they were dancing after countless hours of rehearsal.
They all danced so beautifully that I couldn’t help but to think of a display of beautiful ceramic figures dancing to the notes of a music box. But of course, they were not ceramic figures, but talented people dancing. And the music far from a music box melody was displayed by a talented DJ, who had a taste for Cuban salsa and even more exotic beats.
All these rhythms brought back memories of my beloved Latin American, and I simply had to dance, although, I know I am not good at it, I boldly made my way onto the dance floor, where, some generous souls offered assistance.
But I must admit that they all failed miserably, one of them even returned me to my seat halfway the song due to my astonishing lack of coordination.
I can’t blame him but thanking him for freeing me from my misery.
Needless to say that I confirmed without a doubt that I suck at dancing.
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