To keep the dream alive

There was something like a mannequin lying in the street. Like a mannequin but more detailed. A humanoid form, neither living or dead, lying in the street. Its face had been removed. Something about that facelessness was incredibly disturbing to behold. So disturbing that I couldn't resist pointing it out to strangers passing by. One of those passers-by happened to be Billy Idol. 

I said to Mr. Idol, Look! Eyes without a face. You're eyes without a fa-ace. Got no human grace. You're eyes without a face. 

Then Billy Idol became David Bowie and then he lifted the head from the ground, handed it to me, and encouraged me to dance like I might in a music video. He suggested some moves - showed me. I did my best to replicate them.

I shimmied. I raised my leg high, like a ballerina, pointing my toes to the sky. And then I tipped over backwards. While attempting to recover, I told Mr. Bowie that of course my mobility was excellent. David and I had a long laugh then at my expense. I didn't feel badly about picking up the check. It felt good to be laughing.

Self-deprecation always wins the day.