327 Market

Danced sevillanas with the crew last night at the Commie Cafe. I wore my obnoxious purple polka dotted skirt and my sturdy heels. I made a complete and total fool of myself. But no one judged me for that. Ah, dancing, such an irrational, but utterly human occupation. I couldn't remember the footwork, nor could I remember the arm movements, nor could I recall the hip thrusts. My overriding goal was to simply be in the right place at the right time. I succeeded. Now I have a reason to practice.