Mr. Fulghum is making his excuses.
My plane leaves at 4 a.m., he says.
Wimp! Apparently he has forgotten the important tango lesson he learned in kindergarten: Take a nap every afternoon.
A lot of people come from Seattle to that Labor Day Festival and they dance all night, Mr. Fulghum adds.
They do, I agree.
He is softening up! Subtly I shift, so the Comme il Faut label on my shoebag swings into his view.
Come on, buddy!
A few weeks ago I was dancing in Seattle and I took a fall, he says.
He's been telling funny stories all night. I smile, ready for the punchline.
He opens his coat, touches his side.
I have two broken ribs he says.
.
.
.
In two weeks he is going to BA for three months. To learn not to fall down, he says.
Safe travels, safe dancing, Mr. Fulghum.
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