The cajon vibrates through the floor, snaking its way to my heels. Compás fills every cell with the spirit of Romani ancestors. Arms rise in surrender; disarming duet of cante and toque; Breath hitches in my throat, I stamp my territory into submission. Pitos urges me on, a whirling dervish of black and red; Strings…

The cajon vibrates through the floor, snaking its way to my heels. Compás fills every cell with the spirit of Romani ancestors. Arms rise in surrender; disarming duet of cante and toque; Breath hitches in my throat, I stamp my territory into submission. Pitos urges me on, a whirling dervish of black and red; Strings…

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