I hear the lyrics “But I still haven’t found what I am looking for,” and I think I probably have found what I am looking for: one last story for the day. It is after 9PM, dark, a weeknight, and a group has gathered to salsa dance together. Most are young people just off work, a couple of tourists. I fondly name the tall man in what appears to be a doctor’s coat: Dr. Dance. The woman who keeps returning to the same man for her partner (though he appears to be with someone else), I call the chuparrosa (the hummingbird). These happy dancers make a circle, the music speeds up, and the confusion starts. I enjoy the show better than any episode of America’s Got Talent or Dancing with the Stars (this is the real deal: dancing under the stars). Mixed with the delight, I can’t help but feel uninformed. I don’t know the lyrics (they’re too fast for me to translate more than snippets). I don’t know the dance moves. I don’t know the calls that are being shouted over the music even though I hear them repeatedly. I feel dumb in most things like this. I think about being in the shoe store right before I traveled here. The saleswoman had a test for how I stand on my feet and how I walk. No matter how many times she told me what to do, how to walk on her magic mat that would measure me, I couldn’t do what she wanted. What nicknames I would have if I decided to join the circle! And, why not? Just look at Dr. Dance!