Belgrano is one of the more expansive neighborhoods in the city and I take myself on a little walking tour before dinner. I’m still getting used to the fact that no one eats here until 9:00 p.m. In a lush stretch of park—the Barrancas de Belgrano—at the center of the neighborhood, a small band is playing beneath the pergola with people dancing tango around them. The dance really is everywhere in this city; maybe my mom’s right and I should learn it.

I’d never eaten alone in a restaurant before arriving here and it makes me nervous. I find a little place called Aldonza Bar, make my way up a narrow flight of stairs, and take a seat at the bar. I order tapas and a Malbec and people-watch from my perch. There’s a giddy, charged atmosphere; summer has begun, and the New Year approaches. 2010. It was supposed to be another chance at gold. Instead I’m here, marooned in my own life.

I’m conscious of a pair of guys two seats away from me at the bar. They’ve been conspiratorially casting glances at me for the better part of an hour. They look painfully young, and they’re clearly on their way to getting happily shit-faced, but it’s not like I have other plans. Eventually they order three shots instead of two and flag down the bartender.

“For you,” he says in English, my accent having given me away, “from the, uh, gentlemen at the bar.” We’re sitting so close to one another, the whole thing is ridiculous.

“Thanks,” I say. “Cheers!”

They seem thrilled that I’ve taken the bait and jostle over so that they’re sitting right next to me.

“Welcome!” one says, his accent rough.

“You are welcome,” the other one corrects. “We are please to meet you.”

We clink our little shot glasses together and throw them back. The boys cheer and order another round. I suddenly decide I’m game. Their names are Alberto and Santiago. I don’t remember which is which, and I don’t ask their ages because, frankly, I don’t want to know. They’re going to a party and they tell me I should come.

“The host won’t mind you showing up with someone who wasn’t invited?”

“It’s Edward’s, no one is invited,” says one.

“Which mean,” the other adds, “everyone’s invited!”