Back to Tuesdays in Bangsar, listening to the strains of El Choclo and remember days doing Ochos in lifts of 721 South Forest. Chatting about favourite tango dancers to watch, considering workshops for TangoExposed, movies for the fringe film festival. Dancing in flipflops, admiring necklaces and divine milongas with a female lead. Even though the dances came few and far between, it was a haven, reminding me that Tango is about as much of the socializing as it is about the actual dancing. Tango querido, viejo tango que me embargas con la cadencia de tu musica sentida quiero morir bajo el arrullo de tus quejas, cantando mi querellas, llorando mi dolor recuerdo aquella epoca, tan linda que se fue. Tango dear, old tango that overwhelms me with the rhythm of your music felt I want to die under the cooing of your moaning, singing my complaints, crying my pain I remember that time, so nice that has gone.