A Love Story In Three Pictures

I received this in an email from a Cubano friend who plays wicked timbales and still thinks fondly of Fidel. We disagree on the wonderfulness of Fidel, but his timbales will make you forget his politics and move your hips involuntarily in ways that mimic extremely gratifying sex. That's my kind of drummer folks.



(we meet, the dance begins, shy glances across the table become knowing and carniverous looks)



(we touch in public, only we can taste the bite and sting from the spice of knowing that what we do is wrong)



(at last, under oath, the awful truth is told)


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