He doesn't dance. He's never been good at it. His legs are too long and he's always somewhere else. His head's never been in it...
But why are his feet tapping to the beat of the percussion. Why is his rhythm suddenly perfect? His body swaying through the sounds of the speakers like art. The snap of his fingers conducting his next step. The smile on his face speaking louder than voice that's uttered from his lips. His sweat whipping around the dance floor was the passion burned in the movement. He doesn't usually dance, but the girl standing next to him does.
