Dancing days. Part three

Unfortunately no Mr Psychopath on my last dancing session. No gliding on the dancefloor, no intoxicating feeling. No dizziness.

Mr Shakes is sweating. Dancing like a mop. Paperthin man has so little substance that it feels like I am dancing by remote control, with invisible wires attached to my fingers, not touching. A puppet moved by the wind.

Saving the last dance for Henry, the machine. Heavy on his feet. Never looking at me in the eye. Stiff and floppy at once. And without an ounce of feeling.