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Dancing in the City of Dreams (not very good)

“We’re going to school?”
“It’s my cousin’s birthday. Be my date?”
I gave Pauline my arm and looked dashing. We walked through the door and into the noise of a rowdy ceilidh in full-swing. Somebody spotted her, and we were immediately swept up in a whirlwind of greetings, introductions and embraces. Everyone I saw seemed at least as happy to see me as Pauline: I’d never before experienced such welcome.

It was difficult going, but I finally managed to swim, through handshakes and “Lovely to meet you”s, over to where Pauline had sat down. She saw my face.
“Oh, Christ. What did Phil say to you?” She passed me a Guinness and I took a large gulp.
“Make her cry and you’re a dead man,” I replied, looking away.
“Dance with me.”

After that, I lost myself in a sea of happy faces, swirling bodies and pure, exuberant joy.

And Pauline’s glittering eyes.

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