[Intro] [Slow Wagnerian brass, low strings, single bandoneón note held] [Spoken, deep and solemn] Behold the man. The plan. The flight. Ugenito’s saga. Born of night. [Brass swell] [Sung, operatic] An invitation… far away… To help coordinate… Chiang Mai. [Cymbal crash—pause—tuba sigh] [Verse 1] [Tango lento, bandoneón solo, piano stabs] [Sung, dramatic] The budget was a tiny sum. Google Flights returned… a great big thumb. Poor Ugenito, the bandoneón cries— No combination under the skies. [Spoken, sarcastic] ¡Yupi por Ugenito! [Cumbia rhythm enters—accordion and güiro] [Sung, bouncy] But wait! A Disney trip appears! The family cheers! Ugenito cheers! “If we’re already paying for Orlando bound— Maybe my ticket can be… refound!” [Chorus] [Full cumbia psicodélica, theremin wail, tuba walking bass] [Sung, joyful and manic] ¡Yupi por Ugenito! ¡Yupi por él! A genius with a budget hotel! Bogotá to Miami—Houston—Beijing— Six connections, no sleep, and a credit card scream. [Whispered] Poor Ugenito… [Shouted] ¡YUPI POR UGENITO! [Verse 2] [Tango stop-time—bandoneón alone, dramatic rests] [Spoken-sung, new tango style] May fifteenth. The deadline’s here. The passport’s with the gringos… oh dear. “Almost sure,” they said. But “almost” isn’t “yes.” [Silence—one piano note] [Sung, tense] Ugenito checks Google Flights again… and feels the stress. [Violin screech—bandoneón glissando down] [Spoken] The super-economy fares? Gone. Disappeared. He buys anyway. Because he’s brave. Or weird. [Chorus] [Slow tango, sarcastic brass] [Sung, ironic] Poor Ugenito, the bandoneón sighs— He thinks he’s Odysseus, but he’s just bad with airlines. Two visas, one wallet, a single carry-on, And the whole thing falls apart before the dawn. [Spoken, deadpan] ¡Pobre Ugenito! [Verse 3] [Patter allegro—tuba oompah, snare drum, rapid narration] [Rapid-fire, spoken-sung] July first he boards he’s fine a child steals his window seat— Aisle is fine he tells himself the air is bittersweet. Fog delay in Bogotá the plane is in a queue— He lands in Miami late and immigration takes a… century. [Trumpet wah-wah] He grabs his bag he runs to check-in “HOUSTON’S CLOSED” they say— “My connection’s in an hour!” “Too bad, go away.” He drops his papers crawls to ticketing in physical pain— The flight has left. No Houston. Here comes the hurricane. [Tuba fart—kazoo squeak] [Chorus] [Exhausted tango—slow bandoneón, tired brass] [Sung, defeated] American gives a hotel and a morning flight— But Air China wants three thousand dollars. Overnight. Ugenito stares at nothing. Loses faith in time and space. Sleeps in a Holiday Inn near a Houston suburb’s… face. [Spoken, barely audible] Pobre. Pobre. Pobre. [Bridge] [Bandoneón rises—strings tremolo—hopeful piano] [Sung, soft, awakening] But Seoul… Seoul doesn’t need a visa. Korean Air appears—a visa-free diva. He calls the consulate in Los Angeles to check— “Yes, Ugenito, fly without a wreck.” [Spoken, building excitement] He books it. Houston—Seoul—Bangkok—Chiang Mai. The family shifts the flights. The credit card… sighs. [Single cymbal tap—tuba note held] [Sung, wry] Eighteen dollars lost on a train ticket he won’t use. That’s two empanadas and a Coke. He counts the abuse. [Chorus] [Smiling tango—bandoneón and piano, lighter] [Sung, resilient] Poor Ugenito, the bandoneón now winks— He thought he’d lost it all but he’s still in the rinks. From Bogotá to Houston to Seoul to Bangkok’s heat— He’s a tired, broke, magnificent feat. [Spoken] ¡Yupi… por Ugenito! [Verse 4] [Balkan brass enters—out-of-tune trumpets, tuba, snare—fast and ridiculous] [Shouted, joyful chaos] He lands in Bangkok! He made it! HURRAH! But health control says—“YELLOW FEVER CARD?”—Oh là là. The certificate is in Bogotá on the nightstand by the bed— He shows a photocopy. They nod their heads. [Trumpet flourish] Chiang Mai! The hotel! The AC on full blast— He wakes up with a cold. The worst has come to pass. “Where have you been?” “Korea.” MERS flashes in their eyes— Quarantine! A swab! Six hours of lies. [Tuba slide down—pause] The test comes back: common cold. Go back to bed. Ugenito finally… FINALLY… walks in. Five days late. Standing. After all he said. [Outro] [Wagnerian theme returns—played on kazoo and tuba—bandoneón sighs in background] [Spoken, exhausted but laughing] He coordinated the Olympiad. He did his job. He didn’t cry. He didn’t sob. He lost some money. Lost some sleep. Lost his vaccination certificate in a very messy heap. [Silence—one kazoo note held alone] [Whispered, then shouted with full ensemble] ¡Yupi por Ugenito! He made it through! The flights! The visas! The quarantine! The queues! ¡Yupi por Ugenito! Raise a glass— He’s the hero of the airport… economy class. [Final brass chord—tuba fart—kazoo trill—blackout] [End]
