To the curly-haired female in the crowd next to me; Don't tell me how to have a good time. I was at Dante's, for the Detroit Cobras show, leaning against the pillar in the middle of the floor. I was having a lovely time, until you appeared to the left of me, screaming to no one in particular that, "This is a dance-band, not a shoe-gaze band!", and began to flail and flop into everyone around you. At one point, you complained to the back of my head, "These people need to make room for the dancing people!" Firstly, I dance for a living, four nights a week. If, on my night off, I want to stand still, sip my beer and tap my foot, that is my prerogative. Secondly, if by "dance" you mean flail outward in a multitude of directions and scream and spill alcohol all over innocent bystanders, then yes, you are already doing that. When you tried to push past me, I'll admit I shoved you only hard enough to show you how pissed off I had become. Interestingly enough, you seemed to disappear after I yelled to my boyfriend that, "If I get elbowed, I'm taking this bitch down." Coincidence? Perhaps. Next time you want to embarrass yourself and receive negative attention, you should burst into a tattoo shop and tell us all about that super cool barbed wire arm-band you are sporting. Until then, consider yourself lucky you didn’t get slapped.
Dance, Dance Devolution
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