maiastra @ 2011-01-03T22: 39:00
morning of the first of January I was sitting on the sofa in the El Corte (you do not know what El Corte? Well this is such a mecca of tango in Nijmegen in the Netherlands and the native home for any tango-obsessed), washed down with a tenth wafer fourth coffee and watched the first morning of dancers. Three hours before a storm of applause, the last couples dancing (a rare case, as many as two lawyers) DJ St. Pete was replaced by the Dutch, in none of the neighboring Bed-and-brekfestah to the phone and did not come and we had to do the front seat of the car (cold there) and walk on the morning Nijmegen. So even after the fourth coffee (lousy way to El Corte coffee) I was determined to melancholy, skeptical and very critical, especially in relation to the tango. The drug quickly causes stable relationship and subjugates the entire lives of their victims vpolot until the last minute to spare. This parallel quasi-society circle anonymous tangogolikov who do not understand those who can not dance, and communicate with each other only through the dance. We dance with each other for years and did not know about each other is nothing but a name and a tango-bias. And in general - somewhere here my idea stalled, and I was invited to dance by a storyteller from Baden-Baden (profession he has this - fairy tales and stories to tell). Salon filled, New marathon lasted for one pie in the cupboard after another, tango milonga was replaced (by the way the fresh air should go at least once every 10 hours), dripping from the ceiling (the ceiling is leaking, it is generally unclear what is happening there in the corner there by the way is a skeleton with a rose in his teeth), but closer to night I went home (because in one more night in the car I was not ready even for New Year's marathon). That's started this year and last, he will not be worse. Happy New Year!
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