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Friday Night at Union Hall

There he was, gliding on the dance floor, his lumberjack flannel rigidly shifting to the beat of Pitbull while the sound of his screeching sneakers were muted by passionate youths yearning for bodily contact from a stranger.

There she was, surfing the waves of singledom, her spattered baseball tee flowing with the tide of contentment while strangers sniffed the hippie perfume she hid in her fifth pocket.

The beats grew louder as the crowd thickened providing the desired limitations for the inevitable human collision, bashful grins, and bewitching longing. One could say a cosmic mirror aligned two souls to dance and weave together.

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