The lights dim. Five people make their way onto the stage, the women dressed in shawls and flared skirts, the men ruggedly handsome in their black coats. A haunting melody fills the hushed silence as the guitarist plucks the strings. A woman’s voice joins in and it is as if her song contains all the sadness in this world. The words are unfamiliar, but the emotions ring true.
Then, two dancers enter the spotlight. The man, proud and arrogant, his eyes unblinking and intense. The woman, her back straight and her eyes haughty, hands twisting and turning to the beat of the music. They circle each other, his feet stamping out the rhythm, her skirts swirling. Faster and faster. There is no one else in the room. Only the dancers. Only the music. Only the raw passion that is the flamenco.
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