Piazza Vittorio, late afternoon, the arcades become a milonga.
A dance so physical that it becomes the catharsis of a long history of distance: bodies approach each other, hands intertwine, eyes closed, the melancholy of a violin, a whirlwind of guitar and bandoneon, joy, passion and tremendous nostalgia, it’s tango.

Tango, a sad thought that is danced.
(Enrique Santos Discépolo)