I was here to experience the culture- every aspect of it. I walked across the dance floor through the stares and out the door. I lingered outside hoping to see a friendly face. I wanted to stay.
A group of travelers stumbled in. The ring leader, with pantene-like tresses and fiery cheek bones, rallied us to the dance floor. Camille. The star. Hands above her head, eyes closed in delight, barefoot, she danced. And danced and danced and danced.
I did the two-step and a few, uninspired body rolls. Someone had to watch the corners.
-notes from my journal
location: corn island, nicaragua. a long time ago