The rhythm of the night com- petes with the mus ic in her head to great effect, as if her faltering steps conformed to some strange tertiary rhythm or she was being constricted by a boa in brief fits. He alternately sways, arhythmically, or copies her moves, or perhaps flails, or executes a sort of ane mic twist, out of place, exposed beneath the powerful glare of sense of self. together they dance alone together, each asking the same questions what does s/he see in me? & am I doing this right? even though every dance is still beauty to the person who was brave enough to come to this smokey club to dance with his/her you.