The salsa club was named Casablanca.
The steak was not that bad, some of the salsa dancers were reasonably good but the caipirinha was disappointing. (Of course I didn’t dance, I prefer watching.)
Out of sheer politeness I proposed to the stage manager of the theatre, a woman named Martha.
I left around 01:00, because of deadlines, I said.
Early in the morning I was hunted by nightmares.