It’s how I always thought it should be: a string of diffuse and magical happenings super-imposed on each other but offered without much fanfare. Gatherings where all the people who needed to be there just were. Nights full of the unexpected that you somehow knew would one day come your way.

A mansion rises from the ashes of oblivion. A proud fireplace is the only furnishing in the vacant room besides the upright piano. Young artists create but do not speculate. Empty rooms interconnect. A single couple dancing tango in a corner. A bonfire in the garden on a chill Fall night, a few cold souls warming themselves by its light. And above all an overwhelming sense of well-being and gratitude.

I have nothing to importune of Buenos Aires because everything has already been offered.

This is Tuesday night in Buenos Aires.

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