How magic is the night?

No, really, think about it for one moment. People are well dressed – in fact, they always use their best clothes – and most have good makeup. The light is just perfect, letting us all see only what the night allows. Most of them feel protected by the music, the alcohol and the occasional cigarette break, and usually they seek new experiences that contribute for the common sense of liberty. People go out for a great variety of reasons, but in the end, they always share a common will – to see and let be seen. They experience different night clubs and discos, but there is always the preferred one – where one feels at home, with the right kind of people, the right music and the right drinks.

And what about the urban tribes? There is the popular group, always surrounded by dozens of overwhelmed. There is the flirty group, always seeking new targets. There is the shy group, sitting in the dark and protected by a glass of alcohol, wishing they could only say a few words to the gorgeous person in the bar. There are the lonely runners, proud of their bravery of conquering alone their space. And then, there are the dancers, which never, ever, leave the dance floor.

A few nights ago I went to my own cathedral and, at a certain point during the night, a group of break dancers showed up in the dance floor. Among them, there was a regular boy, with a comfortable and thick wool sweater, dark jeans and a pair of used sneakers, which were once colorful. There was nothing particularly outstanding about him. He was not too tall, nor too gorgeous. He was not famous, nor especially nice. In fact he was not the best break dancer that disco had seen. But there was an unusual intensity in his look, some strange vibrations in his moves, which made people stare at him. The usual circle was created around him, and the disco almost stopped. It was like he was hypnotizing us all, by all the strong moves, the strange movement with his hips, or the amazing pirouettes without any kind of protection.

I didn’t know who that boy was, or how his life was going. I didn’t know what he did for a living, his hobbies or his desires. I didn’t even know if he spoke the same language than I. Was he dancing for himself, was he struggling in a battle that was just too great? Was he wishing to be accepted among his friends, or was he their leader? Was he showing off his dazzling break dance skills, or was he just a shy boy, exorcising his own fears?

I did not get all the answers for these questions. In fact, I didn’t think about these things at that moment. I was just looking at him with both allure and envy, like all the rest, occasionally making some comments about the spontaneous show. During the rest of the night, the boy flirted with two or three absolutely stunning girls, possibly more. Boys wanted to be him, girls wanted to be him, even I wanted to be him. In fact, that was his moment, and he just embraced it. And he was brave, oh yes, he was brave. That boy was missing an arm.

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