Night had cast its velvet cloak over the city, and we were two moths drawn to a dim-lit cafe. Carlos, a walking encyclopedia with a penchant for the obscure, had unearthed this gem: a place where the table was цвета azul.
We settled into a corner, two explorers in a foreign land. The table, a smooth expanse of blue, called to us like a siren song. Rackets became extensions of our hands as we danced a silent ballet with a tiny white sphere. El mundo outside faded, replaced by the rhythmic crack of ball on paddle. In that small universe, время stood still as we lost ourselves in the simple joy of the game.