Kengo was a dancer. Not by trade. Not by skill. Not even by choice. He was a drunk dancer. Without people. Without music. It didn't matter. As long as he had a few beers in him, nothing could stop his body from moving.
Despite knowing this, Kengo couldn't resist a Friday-night-beer or three.
At bar across from his office, he strolled up to the counter with a few co-workers and placed a few orders. They raised their glasses in a "kanpai" before chugging its contents.
Kengo found himself tapping his foot after the second round and bobbing his head after the third. After sitting his seventh drink down, he couldn't stop himself from twirling about, grinding on random patrons.
The bartenders just shook their heads and mouthed, "Sorry," to their customers. By this point, they had become used to Kengo, though they still didn't like it.
Ten drinks down, the bartenders put Kengo out. It was getting close to last train, and the last thing they wanted was to have him there until the morning.
Kengo danced all the way to the station, shaking his butt with every step. Once he had reached the platform, all the motion had twisted his stomach in knots. With one final twirl, his head did the rest of the work. Fire rolled up his throat, and a sour taste burned across his tongue. He spewed all over a well-dressed office lady.
Her shrill scream made his vision blur.
Next thing he knew, Kengo was propped up against a pillar, watching the last train leave the station. He sighed and dropped his in resignation.
I hope you enjoyed the story,
Travis.
Next: Moe
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