The dancing cure

Last night I remembered something I had forgotten: I need to dance and carouse, or I will wilt. And zumba doesn’t cut it. It needs to be a smokey, boozy environment, music vibrating and sludging out of the speakers, bodies writhing around me, the dance floor a hot mess of energy. When I am there I feel power radiating out of my fingertips. I feel like the world could end mid-song, and that would be fine. I’m not so scared of dying, because I’m thoroughly alive.

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