Dancing salsa wrong in los angeles

In a booth at Chuck’s Grill 2 in the City of Commerce, 3 I sit watching the dance floor waiting for María Elena to arrive. A few newcomers practice moves they must have learned at the class taught earlier. They clutch each other tensely, unsuccessfully attempting to appear effortless and fabulous as they swing about haphazardly across the floor. In contrast, a very skinny man (Felipe from Mexico, I was to learn) leads his partner with a touch so light, it appears as if he had no bones in his arms. His partner responds uncertainly at first, but then more assuredly as she accustoms herself to the slightness of his finger signals. Without any sort of pressure exerted between their bodies, they do not gain momentum as they putter in place. An older man and woman close their eyes and cuddle in half time. Others dance comfortably on tempo, minus the uncontained hoopla of the newcomers.