The song finished and another one began; this one was not nearly so much fun,
being entirely free-form jigging with no communal arm patterns in between,
but nevertheless I remained on the dance floor, with the same group of smiling women, feeling that I was in the swing of things now.
I was beginning to understand why people might find dancing enjoyable, although I wasn’t sure I could manage an entire evening of it.
I felt a quick tap on my shoulder and turned around, expecting Raymond to be there,
a smile ready as I thought how he’d like to hear about the arm-shape dance, but it wasn’t him.
It was a man in his mid- to late thirties, whom I’d never met before.
He smiled and raised his eyebrows, like a question, and then simply started free-form jigging in front of me.
I turned back to the group of smiling women, but the circle had reformed without me.
The man, red-faced, short, with the pasty look of someone who has never eaten an apple,
continued to jig enthusiastically, if somewhat unrhythmically.
At a loss as to how to respond, I resumed my dancing. He leaned forward and said something,
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