A bunch of us are in the storage room at my new job, moving boxes of shoes around the shelves, but we’re taking a quick break. I start dancing for no good reason, mostly because keeping still is irritating, and dancing feels good.
“You’re always happy,” one of my co-workers says, watching me contemplatively as I absentmindedly boogie.
“That’s not true,” I say, because it’s not, but I do know what she means.
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