Befuddlement would love to go out dancing more if she could only stop falling and chipping her teeth. It makes it harder and harder to eat the Mint-Chip Ice-Cream that she loves so much now that she’s learned to eat with a spoon. She laughs sometimes because it seems like the thing to do and when she does her green eyes glisten as if she is on the verge of tears. A few strands of her long red hair tangle in her teeth. Her chipped teeth. Chipped from dancing. Befuddlement loves to dance, back and forth like a ping pong game; around and around like a carrousel all high on the thick hooch from Tijuana. Befuddlement loves to dance even though the boys fear her steps and stand back as she twirls for fear of her falling again and the responsibility to touch her and ask if they can help. When Befuddlement dances she starts to sweat gently on the top of her head which sends a soft odor floating smelling faintly of blood, smelling faintly of smiles, smelling faintly of fear. When Befuddlement dances we forget to hear the music.
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