Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Showtime for One

I'm sure the loud conversation of the two old drunk guys in camo, the yeller and his quieter friend, is going to be the greatest barrier to a peaceful commute this evening. Then the kid walks up.

Music plays on his phone, no headphones, only loud enough for me to hear, and he proceeds to rehearse a dance routine, twisting his hips and ghosting through spins, hat catches, pole twirls, and flips to the quiet click and spit of the repetitive electronic soundtrack.

To my dawning horror, I realize that I am the recipient of and sole witness to this guy doing Showtime, and I begin to wonder if I am the center of the universe.

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