A man in a blue shirt and tie grabs my arm and begins to lead me to the dance floor.
Seeing the alarm in my eyes, he offers, “It’s okay, I’m a teacher.”
This results in a collision of questions:
I wonder how often this works for him.
I wonder if this is how I sometimes seem to my own students — as if I’m dragging them onto a dance floor they’d rather not step foot on.
I wonder if I should let myself be led by this man who claims to have moves. And, I wonder if I should represent the gueras, especially as a couple asks me repeatedly to sip some mezcal from their very public cup.
shewhodaresnothing 