writing about oye mi canto before it's too late, almost the end of the year.
this place we go, if we get there early it's filled with,
1) tall, handsome white men in identical blowy white blouses and tailored pants, dancing perfectly with,
2) girlfriends in all-the-same black, frilly-bottomed dresses. thinbodied, narrowfaced white girls in red stilettos and lipstick, competing with,
3) latin girls wearing shiny gloves to their elbows. perfect hair worn way up in the air. thigh-length bridesmaids dresses curved over round asses, swooping necklines. dancing with each other, tapping painted toes in transparent plastic highheels and smiling and spinning for,
4) probable cousins and older brothers of friends, chubby, sweating boys in sport jackets and pink or orange ties, hovering around,
5) older latin couples dressed up and getting drunk, dancing in little clusters off the dance floor, the wife tripping into a ducking, hustling kick/step and other wife picking it up and the husbands stepping back and clapping for beautiful wives and,
6) the dj, who spins the original and all the remixes, incl. one with the new york dj shouts still on it, dances to each one, calls all the girls up on stage who smile at
7) us, dancing to the only song we've heard before. later, when samantha goes to the bathroom, a beautiful bridesmaid dress girl falls out of formation and stands along side me, sipping on a plastic cup, "you like this music? is that your girlfriend?"