i would believe only in a god that knows how to dance.
After a while, Pete had become fairly good at ignoring whatever the jukebox was playing whenever he came up to the rec room. For the most part, he never recognized the songs it chose, and to be honest, he wasn't much of a fan of what he heard, either. (Music had never been a particularly great love of his. He liked his share of tunes, sure, but music wasn't the sort of thing he actively sought out.) This time around, however, things were a little different. He knew exactly what was playing.
The Charleston was a tune he was very familiar with. Despite having been on the island for over a year, he still very clearly recalled the lessons he'd taken with Trudy when he'd still been in Manhattan, mostly attached to memories of wanting to show off. The song had begun playing the moment he entered the room, prompting a quick double-take before he made his way across the room towards the offending machine, brow furrowed in mild consternation before the beginnings of a smile wiped any dubiousness from his face.
'Alright,' he thought. 'If that's how you want to play it.'
In the most inconspicuous way that one could begin doing so, he began to dance to the music, hands held just so in the air in lieu of having an actual partner, lanky limbs suddenly graceful in contrast to his usually gawky movements. (Dance was, for whatever reason, the only venue in which he'd ever managed to be completely coordinated.)
The Charleston was a tune he was very familiar with. Despite having been on the island for over a year, he still very clearly recalled the lessons he'd taken with Trudy when he'd still been in Manhattan, mostly attached to memories of wanting to show off. The song had begun playing the moment he entered the room, prompting a quick double-take before he made his way across the room towards the offending machine, brow furrowed in mild consternation before the beginnings of a smile wiped any dubiousness from his face.
'Alright,' he thought. 'If that's how you want to play it.'
In the most inconspicuous way that one could begin doing so, he began to dance to the music, hands held just so in the air in lieu of having an actual partner, lanky limbs suddenly graceful in contrast to his usually gawky movements. (Dance was, for whatever reason, the only venue in which he'd ever managed to be completely coordinated.)