The doorman nods and we enter through the front door of Shakey's. Only now, a partition hides a bar. We walk around it and recorded music surrounds us. Where the player piano once stood is a towering deejay booth from which a hidden wizard produces magic sounds that thump deeply into our chests. Tables gird the dance floor.
Seniors are here.
I boldly ask an impossibly beautiful blonde senior named April to dance. I don't know how to dance. My body is wood. I bounce, doing my worst imitation of the white guy dance. Heat burns across my face.