Can you see us dancing?

Twirling in the limelight, swathed in blood-colors, black and red satin dress-robes and bindis all-amatch. Feverish silk dancers, don't you break that circle, oh you'd better not. On and on and on and on at the bottom of an escalator, businessmen walk by, we don't move but to dance. I suppose it was a subway station, all greys and tile and silver and not quite white. Oh, but we are dancing, dancing fast! There is no pause, no give, no slack! We are movement! Faster and faster without a misstep, building to that unreachable climax when we will all collapse down into the linoleum but we never get there, we never stop dancing. We are alive, we pulse, we flash, we need no music. We are free.

I mean, can you?