José is still getting used to his prosthetic leg, but that doesn't stop him from salsa dancing. When the music hits, he pushes himself back from the table and begins to swivel his hips. He steps forward with his left foot, then shifts his weight to the other, before finally slapping his right thigh. "That's all titanium, baby!" he gleefully shouts at no one in particular.
After about two minutes of pivoting, turning and checking with an imaginary partner, he sits down and wipes the condensation that's formed on his Modelo Especial. After taking a long swig, followed by an even longer draw from a freshly-lit joint, he looks up at my boyfriend, Stephen, and me. "So, where were we?"
