Sometimes he’s earphone-grooving on the mini-stage and nobody’s stepping out onto the disco-ball spinning floor. Thumping jams, booming beats, I feel like he might start screaming “What will it take, people!?” Dinner chatter still happening, drinks still finishing, nobody’s brave enough to make the first move.
But then eventually the tidal wave pours onto the floor and slow-dancing couples, sweaty seniors, and spinning strangers start filling up the square with hip-shakes and crazy arms. When we’re all on the sidelines there’s the fear of looking stupid, but when we’re all in the middle it’s time to chase down the stragglers and get the whole joint jumping.
That guy who never dances is usually found sipping drinks at the bar, leaning on a backwards dining chair, or smoking outside. He’s avoiding you, he’s avoiding us, because he just doesn’t like dancing. No rhythm, no moves…
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