I, Manolete

Behold El Toro Blanco:

Actually, el toro cremo (given the color of the canvas, or at least the reproduction of it that you see), might be more appropriate.

The White Bull. No wonder Hemingway shot himself.












Nonetheless, I, Manolete, bedecked in el Traje de Luces, my Suit of Lights, stand before the bull. He charges. I sidestep with a smoothness Balanchine would admire. The bull charges again. I douse it with blue, then black. Of course, the red comes soon enough.















The fight continues. The bull is strong and angry. I, however, remain cool.

I recall a saying that goes something like: racoons are cunning, but they don't have a head for figures.

I laugh.

Ha. I laugh again.










The fights continues...