The door opens, and my eyes are filled with the beauty of Latin twenty-somethings. I find Lourdes. A naked cheek exposed for kissing. I kiss and follow with a hug. A little muchacha, Arianna, barely three years old, runs for my leg and glues herself to my jeans. A poinsetta for me from this innocent blossom. The music is unleashing the passion from everyone's hips: the salsa, the merengue, the samba. One gorgeous dark-haired dancing partner after another. The words are barely comprehendable from the thick ethnic accents. Words are not necessary; the communication is all from the body. The wine sits patiently on the dining table in the far corner. As though I'm drinking the aroma of a flower. Another glass. Another. Another. I find my dancing partners and say goodbye to each with a kiss. Lourdes takes me to the door, and with one more kiss and hug, I'm out the door and gone from the party.

Fifteen minutes across the hall that overcompensated for a dull, depressing day at Sears Auto Center.