And it was dance. Something happened in Middlesbrough. I was there and I saw it. It happened. And it was dance. I saw.
Isadora, Janet Jackson. Vogue. Northern Soul. The god of all dance; Jagger was there – and the beautiful boy. We all stood there.
I didn’t know which world it was, there was a band on and. A band. And a band; the stage was tall. As one danced we watched. Then a band. Even a punk band. We stood for three lead guitars and a drummer. We danced. We stood. We danced.
Then the next band. Scream all you want to. Be Soul. Rock. Bare your soul. We stood there.
I so wanted to dance. So much. Someone stepped. We watched. It happened. Over in seconds. We watched, stepped; one then one then one. Only a moment.
I will remember forever the seconds forever. The beautiful boy. He was one. Thin-armed in tweed, jeans and Converse. We conversed in the way we saw. I stood there.
In Middlesbrough. As something happened. It could happen here. Hang back and see. In your moment; happen – be. It happened to me.
In seconds. I was the one for an instant. Stepped forward.
As if no one noticed they noticed. Another stepped forward. They danced. We stood. We danced. We didn’t dance. We danced. It didn’t happen. It happened. We danced.
and the short story The Dress