Not Too Dead to Dance.

A man who might be described  as being a little past his prime was walking down the street one day listening to Song of the Stars through his walkman. (He was that old.) He closed his eyes and started dancing, following every rhythmical and tonal nuance with an instinctive appreciation of something a little magical.

When the music stopped, so did he. He opened his eyes to see a number of onlookers regarding him with amusement. Applause broke out, and then a young woman stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. She was followed by a heavy set young man a good eight inches taller than him and at least thirty years his junior.

‘Hey man, you’re cool.’

‘Cool? You mean as in nearly dead?’

‘Ha! Yeah, some’n like that. The girl who kissed you was my girlfriend.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’

‘No worries, mate. Chill. You deserved it. Only don’t let her do it again.’

‘OK.’

And then the dancer went home and had buttered crumpets for tea...

 ... and wrote some more fiction.