Aug 27, 2026 · 11 min · 4 segments
In a dusty tango cabaret, Duende, a mischievous, wise, cruel, and timeless fairy roams between the crevices, enticing its audiences, musing on times long gone, and igniting creative spirits of those…
Isabel MillerGuest
Adam Grant WarrenHost
Oh, what is this I hear? What is this rumbling in my ear? Oh, what is this buzz? Bodies eager, eyes peering, hearts peeling.
¿Cómo estás? ¿Bien? ¿Mal? ¿Bien? ¿Mal? ¿Bien? ¡Sí! Well, I suppose I can let you stay a while.
These days, these days, my cabaret is filled to the brim with boisterous people with ooh and ah.
With those that dream they can dance as well as my boys and girls and neither and both.
Their elegant lines and elaborate tangos and the performers dance to keep warm and the men and women clap to drown out the scraping echoes of the outside.
She will push open the door to show the other dancers that she means business.
She will root her feet to the stage and raise her hands as if to pray to the rotting roof.
Am I holy? dancing, wanting, panting like a gladiator, standing in the arena ready to draw blood, sangre, to please her audience.
Are you pleased? She will contort her body, apunta, apunta, apunta, just as if she can cast a spell.
Most days she seeks me at the burning tip of her pointed toes, in the spin of her malinete.
Oh, what is this I hear? What is this rumbling in my ear? Oh, what is this buzz? Bodies eager, eyes peering, hearts peeling.
¿Cómo estás? ¿Bien? ¿Mal? ¿Bien? ¿Mal? ¿Bien? ¡Sí! Well, I suppose I can let you stay a while.
These days, these days, my cabaret is filled to the brim with boisterous people with ooh and ah.
With those that dream they can dance as well as my boys and girls and neither and both.
Their elegant lines and elaborate tangos and the performers dance to keep warm and the men and women clap to drown out the scraping echoes of the outside.
She will push open the door to show the other dancers that she means business.
She will root her feet to the stage and raise her hands as if to pray to the rotting roof.
Am I holy? dancing, wanting, panting like a gladiator, standing in the arena ready to draw blood, sangre, to please her audience.
Are you pleased? She will contort her body, apunta, apunta, apunta, just as if she can cast a spell.
Most days she seeks me at the burning tip of her pointed toes, in the spin of her malinete.
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