Not there yet, he confirmed, before asking me if I wanted to wait along the tracks.  So we could either sit at the station for no known amount of time, to catch our train's replacement if it came, or spend the night in Cadiz, taking the same line leaving tomorrow, departing this seemingly tired town.  And with that, I breathed in, inhaling the smell of salt, thick and heavy; it convinced me to stay.   So I answered him, exhaling "yes, yes, and yes."  And that's where I heard them, here in Cadiz, the Gypsy Kings, golden tones reflecting the day's light; and it was here I learned to Salsa, spinning sand flying, still hot, even when stripped down by the surf.