He could use a little ear-splitting music, speakers banging against his heart. If he had his way, he would spend the rest of his life dancing up and against one of those girls in low-cut dresses, and maybe on a slow night, he‘d get to play the keyboard onstage. Even if they never let him onstage, what if he could get a job there? Just so he could catch rehearsal sessions and stand by the speakers and let the vibrations lift him off the floor. It would beat driving a taxi. Maybe the musicians would let him join in and jam a little or maybe he could walk the city streets at night with neon flashing in his face. Slow his hips down, bop his head to the clave, and walk long strides with his hat tipped over one eye. And he could sit on street corners and share a smoke with another music lover.

And why not? Santo decided that for once he was living for today and taking control of his own destiny. Once he made enough money to cover his expenses, he would escape and go downtown. On Saturday nights, ladies got in free and men paid ten dollars to get into the Palladium. He had ten dollars in his pocket. He took his last fare for the night and slid into the highway heading south. So what if Esperanza didn‘t want to join him. He knew he should‘ve waited until Esperanza had a night off from work so they could go out together. But after living in Nueva York for so many years, her next weeks were not enough. It wasn‘t enough to listen to live shows on the radio while he drove customers around, listening to passengers talk about Tito‘s drums or Gillespie‘s trumpet. He wanted to go inside a real New York City nightclub and feel it himself. Not one of those cheap discos that riddled uptown and which only played bad merengue and were filled with rowdy youngsters. No, Santo wanted to experience the real thing. He was tired of sitting in his taxi seven days a week, only stretching his legs to piss and get a quick bite. Could this be it to life? He didn‘t ask for all this responsibility. All he ever wanted was to live. Wake up to the sun and fall asleep, with the moon, like the old men in Los Llanos who couldn‘t care less if the PSP, or PRD, or ABC took power as long as they could sit under a tree with a cold beer and dance with their women. There had to be time in life for that.

He drove by the club and watched the crowd trying to enter. There was no parking. He drove around several times and the cars were double-parked. It was Saturday night. He needed a miracle to find a space. Santo made a promise to himself that if he found parking, he‘d take the chance and go into the nightclub. Santo drove around the block, praying to the parking gods. As it was, he had very little time to return home before Esperanza would start to worry. Santo double-parked, thinking that if he stopped moving, maybe then someone would leave their parking spot. And as if the gods themselves wanted Santo to go to the club, a car pulled out and he eased in. Santo sweated with anticipation. It was too easy. Could he be so lucky? He took it as a sign that he was at the right place at the right time. And hadn‘t he endured a long enough wait? Didn‘t he deserve this blessing?