Initially a vertical joining, with a consensual dip into a semi-horizontal posture. Vocalizing stops and is replaced by rapid shallow breathing, followed by a glance at the supplied lyric sheet, and a 2nd glance to the left, at the evening's setlist. Attention refocused, eye locking, the previous established rhythm suddenly stops and the position held until the lights drop. Returning to vertical, the partners turn to their right and bow at a 90 degree angle, several times, until the applause diminishes and the band strikes up the next number.
Barry delivers a warm "Thank you" and Manilow returns "The pleasure was all mine."
Prompt: Barry Fuckin' Manilow
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I took the fire stairs. The elevator was too slow, crowded and I didn't want to run into coworkers. 13 flights can take a few minutes and I was already running behind according the real-time updates on the Glendale Today app.
Pope mobile passing Colorado and Brand. Perhaps the waving and flower throwing would slow the procession. I still had a chance to see the Pope. It'd be third Pope sighting in the lifetime of this elapsed Episcopalian. Still, the record would be impressive for some States-bound non-believer who's never been to Rome
Exit door - Alarm will sound.
Prompt: A Missed Opportunity
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Danced around? Danced over? Danced through? Just danced. If you're going through hell, just dance - or so says a dub-stepping Winston Churchill. Usually in the kitchen and it was always alone, to some saltwater dub or down tempo retro-mix. "But there's booze in the blender, and soon it will render..." the lyrical hooks that "let it all hang out" welling up with the bottomless bass and layers of skittering guitar. How many times, how many ways can you be seduced to dance alone to the ridiculous?
Prompt: I had never danced like that before
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