Parakeet: Dancing in the mirror.

I should do this professionally. The music has never been clearer. My body never more languid. The beats are one with my heart. I could do this forever. The same song is on repeat. For the next few hours it will be the most amazing thing I have ever heard. In a couple of months, I’ll find it lost in my play list and smile, remember this crazy moment.

Only Benga can do this to me. Get me off my awkward clumsy feet, have me dancing like the white people never came, I’m half naked in leathers and the dust is rising off my feet.

If I was outside, I would be in the corner tapping my foot on the ground, imagining the scene above. Unless I’m drunk. With a few chasers in me, I would be the first off my feet. In the morning I’d groan and wish it had been vodka and I had amnesia.

But this is my room, I can be a Nilotic queen, moving to the rhythm. Dancing with a smile on my face. Until my brother knocks my door to ask me to keep it down, I can sweat half my body weight onto the carpet.


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