The Dancing Tasmanian Devils
After the meeting, Powell had lent his phone to Barbara for five minutes. The day after, he was swamped in ads for Tiffany rings. No matter which app he opened, gold, silver, and platinum masterpieces were showing up, flashing their perfect curves, and shining brighter than his screen’s settings theoretically allowed.
Usually oblivious of such signs, he had this time around taken the hint. Maybe because his exhortation at The Heartbroken Tasmanian Devils was still fresh in his mind. In any case, he had called Barbara and invited her on a date for the next Friday.
They went dancing; Powell loved to shake and spin. Barbara was an incredible partner, and upon reaching the center of the dancefloor, they felt like a coil in the middle of an electromagnetic field. Electricity was flowing through their body. Barbara’s hairs were standing on her head, emphasizing her goddess-like face. If her smile was as bright as a Christmas illumination, her laughter was a Christmas choral in itself. The moment was perfect.
The other dancers, spellbound, tiptoed back to their seats. As much as they wanted to participate, they were afraid of disturbing the couple and preferred to sit and enjoy the unexpected performance.
Powell and Barbara’s moves were out of this world. Their bodies, arms, and legs communicated directly with each other; it was instinctual. The band wouldn’t dare to take a break in these conditions. They seamlessly kept on playing, unwilling, and unable to break the spell. Slowly, dancers came back to the floor. The gravitational force of the couple was now too strong.
Everybody wanted to take part in this supernovae of joy. Even the staff was there, whirling and jerking around.
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