Candice’s relationship with dancing was much like the relationship some have with alcohol. She loves it.
Embracing the sounds, she lets the beat consume her and then, when full, when closes her eyes and lets the music sweep her away. She moves and turns as the music swirls. She bends and swoops and hops and turns, not so much inline with the words, for lyrics are subjective, but more to the root rhythms that reveal the soul of the piece.
Fast or slow makes no difference, for to music she was eternally indentured. At least for as long as the music continues or until someone like Agnes comes along. And in Candice’s world of dance there always seemed to be an Agnes. Someone bold enough to approach her in the middle of her deluge of self expression to say, “You look like you’re in agony dear. The restrooms are over there.”