Kaity Kasper

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Dancing With Myself

The twelve of us move about the room wildly.  There are drums and maracas and other instruments I have never seen before but as they’re passed to me its as if I’ve always played them.  At some point I find myself in the middle of everything, bouncing and fist-pumping – a whirling dervish clothed in flannel and spandex and legwarmers.

I can still dance.

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