A midsummer night, the arbour covered in flowers, long wooden tables, liqueur and music.
Act III, Scene 4
Whispers everywhere, the party is merry. The soft music in the background gets louder and louder. A crescendo. A glass, another glass. Ron y miel. Intoxicating, amber-coloured nectar. Intoxicating like the scent of jasmine in bloom, carried by the warm summer winds. A crescendo. You meet her gaze - she whispers a few words. You recognise the Spanish dialect Lunfardo, the language of tango. Your forehead is wet with sweat. Salt melts in the sugar of the liqueur. The sluggish Gotan rhythms give you courage, the night and the tango are on your side.
A crescendo. Deafening shouts. The air gets even hotter. You know it will burn. But you can't resist. You get up and walk to the dance floor ... her face is lit up by a smile that lights up the night ... That's all you crave, now.
A warm and sensual perfume. Intense crescendo. Amber-coloured nectar.
