I lived for a brief time in Washington D.C.

I tried the city on like a suit of clothes and found it didn’t fit. It chafed in awkward places, left me feeling too exposed, and also too covered. For the most part it itched and didn’t breathe. But there were moments when it wore like old jeans, offering comfort like the college hoodie that’s splattered with blue and yellow from the time you painted the kitchen the colors of a Mexican village.

Those times most often happened while dancing in the kitchen with a roommate who became a friend — a woman to hold on to during the ups and downs. To rejoice with and to share tears. This music makes me think of her.

Here’s to friends. And to banishing the bad days by dancing like no one is watching.

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