“Hey, I can walk,” Izzy said in her defense, pulling herself up. She straightened her skirt, gathering her composure and did a few clumsy struts around the cafe floor, “See?” This was returned by a doubtful look from Renard.

“I doon’t think yoo…” he started.

“I am perfecto!” She cried out heading to the door. Renard stumbled after her, his new way of walking making it hard to catch up to her gazelle-like pace. She began to walk the sparsely crowded streets, humming the tune to a rapid salsa dance.

“Bonito, I want to go dancing!” She said, turning to Renard. He tried his hardest to lead her back to the apartment, she was in no condition to be roaming the streets, even with supervision and an unloaded gun.

“But…” he said.

“Sim, sim you’re right Bonito, its only the afternoon, the clubs aren’t open. Foda!” She turned back to the flat, stumbling in her high heeled shoes, leaning on Renard’s trembling shoulder for stability.

“Then we dance at home,” she decided.