Down the Rabbit Hole?

I'm at a milonga here with the usual crowd. It's 10pm or so and warm for that time of night. I'm sitting on the periphery of the dance floor watching the pretty shoes and legs dance by, letting the music pick my thoughts up and swirl them in a daze when a pair of sandals attached to white-pants-wearing legs approach me. I look up to see a man I have never seen before, clothed entirely in white, white pants, white shirt, white bolero and sunglasses. Sunglasses worn inside at 10pm, in low light. He offers his hand, I have no idea who this guy is, I'm thinking maybe he's some kind of tango god, or a lunatic, I don't know, I'm about to find out.

No sooner have I let him lead me into the flow of dancers and this fellow has us careening against the line of dance doing something that is hardly identifiable as tango. I consider pulling him up short and saying "Listen mister, the line of dance is that way, do you even know what you're doing?" but I'm still not sure if he's some deranged tango star or what and I'd rather not risk offending him.

Then, never mind the line of dance, he has me dancing in the center of the circle, (mind you, this is a very small space) he has the widest, loosest, strangest, embrace I've ever encountered and his dancing... a bizarre mix of tango and insanity. Yet the insanity seemed to have a purpose, an intention, just as his embrace is very strange and yet strong, practiced. Dancing with him is like dancing with crazy only, I've danced with crazy plenty of times and I've been able to keep up, this goes way beyond.

I think I'm doing a pretty good job given the circumstance but there are moments when things don't work out so well and I'm not having a good time, a good dance shouldn't require this much energy from the follower to keep it looking pretty and to keep herself off her ass.

The song ends and he says "Thank You" like "You're Rejected" and does not walk me back to my seat. I only wish I were less dumbfounded by the experience and could have gotten in a good, cold "thank you" myself, the kind of 'thank you' that in tango culture one reserves for those they wish to discourage from ever asking them to dance again, but no, and no sooner am I back to my chair when a little old man is asking me to dance to the nice vals that is now playing and I accept, grateful for the opportunity to recover from being shaken about like a thing on a rubber band. I ask my new partner if he knows who the man in white is, he says he's never seen him before. We watch him take another victim. She looks, from her uncertain steps, even more confused dancing with him than I had felt and then when I look again, he's disappeared. Gone. And no idea who he was or what or how he'd come about dancing like that, curiouser and curiouser.