I'm a sophomore in college, right? Supposed to be hitting up frat parties, doing stupid shit. Instead, every weekend I'm at the community center — waltzing with, like, Mrs. Henderson, who tells me stories about the Depression. It's not a big deal, I guess, but sometimes I just look at my reflection in the polished wood floor, all sweaty, wearing those shiny little dance shoes, and I'm like, REALLY? This is what we're doing? My friends think I'm "studying" but honestly, it’s just… cha-cha lessons with people who remember when gas was a quarter a gallon. It's kinda funny, actually. The way I tell myself I'm "expanding my horizons" or whatever. My horizons are just... really old.