Dancers at Dusk.

Denver, Colorado.

I have never been once for dancing. It's just not in my jeans genes. I am all for the act of dancing when carried out by trained professionals. But you will not see me out on the ball room floor any time soon. What I do when trying to "dance" can't rightly considered dancing at all. It would be considered more of an involuntary convulsion. On the rare occasion that I've tried to dance, the paramedics are summoned by some concerned citizen who informs them that there appears to be an epileptic individual flailing about at the Johnson wedding. There is nothing worse than finally getting the courage to wander out on the dance floor and bust a move, only to have a wannabe hero shove a wallet in my mouth to keep me from swallowing my tongue.