You came at me through the smoke in the bar with a sideways smile and an outstretched hand. No hello, no name. They were playing an old Coltrane record on the jukebox. A slow 60s ballad you're not suppose to dance too. Your hand was dry and warm. We danced moving in and out of the light, our shadows grazing, getting closer and closer. We went round and round, feeling the world speed up, race ahead, and slow down, getting juke-box heavy in the dim light. The song ended, I started to move away, and then you said, Stay.