Paradoxically, the King of the dancefloor dances very rarely on the floor itself. The dancefloor is too often encumbered by couples who, if they’re not restricting him in his movements, block the audience of the faithful from watching his oeuvre. The King of the Dancefloor can often be found elsewhere, preferably a spot with very good lighting – for example, next to the bar, where he has all the room he needs to shine in the eyes of the other, enraptured subjects-salseros who are lucky enough to see him dance. The King of the Dancefloor is in most cases a good dancer, who distinguishes himself from other good dancers in that he doesn’t find pleasure in the dance itself, but in the fact that everyone watches him. His dance therefore is composed of an accumulation of technical exploits and spectacular passes, all executed perfectly without the smallest backwards glance towards his dance partner, who he will gratify from time to time with a smile in the brilliant style of Tom Cruise. The King of the Dancefloor rarely arrives without his Court, comprised of dancers who like to show off also, but not as much as the King. When the King of the Dancefloor dances, his fan-club surrounds him, and salutes each example of technical prowess by whistling, and ooohs and aaahs. This ceremony repeats itself throughout the course of the party, the members of the Court receiving each one in turn their 5 minutes of fame and glory in the arms of the King while the leftovers comment on the execution and perfection of this or the other pass, and saluting the high points of the dance with various and sundry noises. The King of the Dancefloor compensates their fidelity by high-fives or a manly slap on the shoulder. The King of the Dancefloor does not dance with just anyone : he only dances with partners of his own caste, or with those ladies on whom he would like to practice the full range of his moves, in which case he dances on the floor, and the Court falls, mysteriously, away. A perfect example of the divine right of kings, his popularity vanishes if one should leave the Court. Happily for the King, the dancefloor knows no revolution other than the Rueda.

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