Like drunken birds flying north in the winter, several thoughts flitted their way through Diamond’s mind. So much music, so many different dances, so little arch support in her shoes. She was torn between a nice, old-fashioned Strauss waltz, mindless jumping up and down to hard rock, or a polka. Wait a minute, a polka? Now where did that thought come from? she wondered, then guessed that at least one of the birds was drunk on ‘Mudwater.
“How about some Salsa?” she suggested. “I always liked Santana.”
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All shall be rather fond of me and suffer from mild depression.
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