Typical Friday night in the Gaslamp District. My friend has been prattling on about a newfound love for dance. I ask him to teach me someday.
Before I know it, he has both my hands in his and he’s teaching me to swing dance right there on the street corner. Our slow, awkward mess of arbitrary steps ended with me twirling, laughing and not caring that random passerbys were watching.
After a hellish week of grueling graduate classes, I felt completely elated and free in that moment.
I am so grateful to be alive. Thanks, God.
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