Excerpt:

The strings were plucked quickly, the sound always reminding me somehow of grasshoppers, only sped up, when they were played like this. Faster and faster my friend’s fingers moved across the strings, faster and faster, now slowing, now speeding up again, plucking and strumming, plucking and strumming.
I didn’t have time to watch them as the music poured from his hands directly into my veins where it pumped through my body and was released from my feet and hands, showing itself through my movements as I danced across the bare ground, kicking up dust as I moved. My feet pounded down onto the earth in a few quick successive stomps, then tapping quickly and lightly as I stepped, no, more leapt around the area we had chosen for our dancing.
The song changed almost seamlessly into the next, this one not as hurried as the last, though the beat certainly kept moving. As this song began my amiga stepped forward, hands holding her skirts lightly as she moved forward, facing me on the other side of the patch. She began to move her feat in time, gradually working up to more complex steps and swirling her skirts about in an imitation of the older Gitano women she watched each night. She danced her way close to the center at the same time as I and then we joined hands, and moved in close sync to each other. We circled the patch, I twirled her at points in the music where it appeared to fit and at the music’s crescendo we split apart again and on our own danced around the outside of the circle, hands moving, one in front, one behind, now both at our sides as we moved, and turned, and dipped and as the music slowed our movements slowed until we stopped on our final poses, then after a few seconds we collapsed to the ground, breathing deeply with big smiles on our faces.