Dancing

There are all kinds of dancers dancing at the club.
Notice them.
See the two girls in the middle, busting out moves from decades past;
it is impossible not to notice these two. That's the idea, I think.
The smiles enveloping their faces and the bounce in their hair is genuine.
They also genuinely want you to watch them be silly, be loud, be in your face.
But maybe not.
Maybe they just like the setlist and want to thank the dj in his language.
Notice the girl underneath the fan. Even though she is in the open for everyone to see, it is worth it because she hates to sweat. Her eyes are closed, because this allows her to actually hear the music, but she is still smiling, always smiling, even though she knows she cannot dance as well as the tall blonde with the fake breasts.
The men are on the outside, looking in, as they always are before five drinks deep. They bounce in time, while they try to navigate their swaying straw, but this hardly counts as dancing.
See the drunk girl in the black shedding boa and remember that dancing was her idea, but getting wasted was someone else's idea. So she will kick up her heels from the chair and swing them around the bottle covered table, but she will miss out on the real stuff. She may even start to cry if you hang around long enough.
Then there are the moms, out on a Saturday night with the girls, and forgive them if it takes a little while to get into the groove. It's been awhile, you know? But they are happy to be out, to be dancing, even to be sitting with a drink observing their friends under the lights. Throw some Madonna on, that usually does the trick.
Out of all of the dancers dancing at the club, they are by far the most beautiful women there.