The trainers wait in the shadows, cradling killers in their arms, uttering little shouts of “chica!” as they hurl back shots of fine tequila. When their turn finally comes, money flies like feathers floating from one hand to the other. The ring is dusty and small and just a little bit absurd. The dirty dance begins and everything pushes its way up to the level of overwhelming: the smell, the sound, the greed, the aggression, the sense of inevitability. After all, all of us here are men.

Sauza
Live a legend.