Turning
Out
The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls . . .
—Simon and Garfunkel
Well, here I am. I'm out on the floor again and I can hear the music starting up. Great! I think I'm finally ready to dance. But wait a minute . . . this isn't a floor; it's asphalt! Good grief, we're out on the street!
Oh no, I don't think I signed up for this. I thought this was going to be a nice, controlled Christian dance in the church gymnasium — you know, a lot of nice Christian folks from similar backgrounds finally getting to do what we couldn't do when we were younger. We were going to have a nice clean time dancing to Christian music — no dirty dancing, of course — just something like sanctified aerobics.
This isn't fair! Somebody turned my nice, safe party out into the streets. Who are these people, anyway? I feel so strange here. The music's loud, the costumes are bizarare, I can't tell if these people are laughing or crying. Should I be around them? . . . What if I get some incurable disease?
This isn't safe; this definitely is not safe. I thought this was going to be an entirely different dance.
