Scott Hightower The architect of our party cuts the pringá, is himself a directory of pasos. On the wall behind him, a mirror features a giddy Bavarian floating in a deafening jar of beer. He smiles in the froth. His chin floats; likewise, his feathered green felt hat. “¡Tome su copa con pajarito!” Like being in Cadiz and correlating Puerto Rico. Or being in Granada and thinking of Baghdad or being in another point in Andalucía and...