At 17 years old, I was Gardel in Cuba. At the age of 17, I walked around with a metaphorical flower in my buttonhole.
A well-known old saxophonist would arrive and play for the pigeons in the square. Listening to it, the verses came to mind “they will be ashes, but it will make sense; dust they will be, more dust in love” My grandmother also listened to tangos. I remember her like this while the world keeps moving and she and Gardel live in my memory.