(thank you, body-roll bow, thank you)
and here's what i have to say about that: i smell of the sweat of 30 men right now.
sweaty palm on sweaty palm, sweaty chest against sweaty chest. and i glistened like the rest of them, especially after landing in a bed of moist chest hair when i shanayed half a turn too far.
some people had good sweat smells. they smelled of a run in the park and coming home late and long sunny sundays.
others were pungent. they smelled of windowless hotel rooms and unwashed dishes and arm pits in the morning.
one guy was too short to smell. although he compensated by yanking me around like we were in a yo-yo competition, and I was the yo-yo.
another guy smelled like a vinaigrette of perspiration and CK One. he was the best dancer there and did half his moving on the inside.
it is two hours later now. i am lying on my bed still in my salsa clothes, writing this post. I should have showered by now. i’ll go in a minute.
just one more whiff. one more search for material amongst the smells of these strangers’ day. one more attempt to make a strange moment last, before everyone’s Tuesday disappears down my shower drain.
VIVA Cabaret
7 comments:
Salsa...great to see it all happening, but at times horrifying when you don't know the rights moves. I started following a salsa class once. But I did not get much further than starting. Maybe I should give it another try. I'll promise I'll try to be the guy with the good sweat smell.
And ps-welcome back into the world of the blogging generation.
: ) thank you. good to be back.
i HIGHLY recommend getting back in the sweaty ring. swing those hips baby. that's what they're there for. and the music is just beautiful.
plus, if you accidentally plant yourself in a woman's sweaty breast, well, it wouldn't be the worst day of the week...
:)
As someone who ripped through the dance floors
of downtown cities in Colombia, BA, etc. I can testify... the worst day on the salsa dance floor beats the best day at the office.
true that. truuueee that.
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