Thinking about those guys who are not players, the guys who have a sense of the woman, I am reminded of a conversation one night in club Gricel in Buenos Aires. It was with the milonga organiser, Daniel, one of my favourite people to talk to in that city, about milonga life. I pointed out the guy who had shown me what a real dance was like, thinking he must be a well-known good dancer and astute Daniel would know him or know of him.
- Who? he said.
- That guy, I said nodding in front of us.
- Which one?
- Look, right there, the very quiet one, in the middle, in the t-shirt and jeans.
- Him? Really?
And then I remembered: of course he wouldn't know. Look is not feel and he wasn't a woman.
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