The crowd of dancers moved in odd, stop-action snap shots as he watched.  So many of them in casual jeans, shorts and tank top "wife-beaters" to give them unrestricted freedom of movement.  Yet as the images froze, for half-seconds at a time, he could see the faces of men and women, mugging and grimacing as they held unnatural poses in mid-step. One young man appeared to have been captured in mid-leap, suspended in the air for the extra beat of Greg's perception.  

Yet somehow, the herky-jerky images that he observed in every direction did not seem at all out-of-step with the powerful pulse of Rick's song.   

The short, little man dancing next to him did some odd dance move and kicked him hard in the shin for the second time in just a few minutes.  This time the short man actually glanced back at him with annoyance before turning back to the girl he was dancing with.  

Greg didn't say anything.  If the girl that he was dancing with had noticed anything... she didn’t give any indication.  He really didn’t expect her to. 

She was much younger than he was, probably in her early to mid-twenties.  It had taken him several tries to find someone who would dance with him as it was. 

He’d taken to shaving off all of his facial hair when it began coming in grey.   He was also very happy that the bald look was popular now.  He saw more and more of the basketball players and actors doing it now.  He thought that his head had the right kind of shape for a bald hairstyle as well, so he’d routinely skinned it for the last few years. 

In reflective moments, he didn't really think that his efforts to look younger were working.  Not that it really made that much difference. 

His body had grown thick with age and at 49 he was now too old to blend in with such a crowd. He had stopped coming to clubs like this for that reason a long time ago.  He could not quite remember when he'd come back.   He almost laughed out loud when the kid at the door asked to see his ID, but it was apparently some kind of state law.  He’d been carded.  

The girl he was dancing with never looked at him once during the whole dance, but he had caught her looking back at her friends and suppressing a giggle. He knew from experience that she would mumble something unintelligible as the dance ended... and then hurry off the floor before he could say anything to her.  

Not that he had anything to say of course.  He was not trying to pick up one of these young girls.   Most were the same age as his own daughter.  As a fleeting image of his Felicia returned, the hollow emptiness seemed to float up inside of him once again.  He knew that he needed to call her to warn her that his car insurance was now cancelled, but he could not bring himself to face her … not even on the telephone. 

Maybe if he danced faster?

He’d hoped to collect unemployment once he realized that he was really and truly out of a job, but his application had been denied and he had been told that he could appeal the decision. 

He tried to remember how long ago that was, but he could not.    

Give it to me baby.

His headache was a constant companion now.  Somewhere he understood that there had to be a way to refill his blood pressure medicine, but he no longer had health insurance of any kind. Should have done that long ago.  Dancing like this will make it worse later.  

As the song ended, the DJ smoothly synched it with the next jam.  Sure enough, his dance partner beat a hasty retreat before the next song could really get started... pretty much without a word or a backward glance.  She was gone in a minute.

Trying not to look embarrassed, Greg looked around to find someone else to dance with.

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Illustration by Ernest Watson, Night Life At The Studio