Vagabundo

It's a warm evening, glasses are clinking, someone at the microphone with the most confident face in the world is proving that not all men are the same. The music flows like a joke, but with a slight challenge, as if it wants to say, "Come on, don't paint everyone with the same brush." The dance floor is singing along, half ironically, the other half with belief, and the third just to the rhythm. The words are simple, almost a toast. They have boasting, charm, and a touch of theater, but that's exactly what makes it all genuine. After all, loyalty can apparently sound fun, with a guitar, a Latin beat, and a half-smile.