I used to live for Friday nights at Rockstarz.

Not just for the drinks. Not for the karaoke where someone inevitably sings Bring Me To Life. No, I lived for the Dance Break. 

Midnight. The karaoke would cut. I would hear the all too familiar “OOOOO YEAAAAA” of Cupid, and I knew it was Flex Time. Sweating, flexing, wobbling, the fun could never end. 

But then… it stopped. No warning. Midnight came and went, no routine, no magic, just... more karaoke. When I asked why, the bartender shrugged and said:
“We got complaints, so we don’t do that anymore.”

Do that anymore? DO THAT ANYMORE?

What am I supposed to do, just sip my drink like a normal person? Talk to strangers? Feel feelings?

No. I can’t go back to a world without that 15-minute burst of ecstasy and synchronized choreography. I’ve tried. I’m fading. Dimming. My soul is in hibernation, waiting for the Wobble that never comes.

So I’m begging you, Rockstarz:

Bring back the dance break.

Bring it back before I start moonwalking in traffic or choreographing routines with my houseplants. Bring it back so I can feel alive again.

It was never just a dance break.

It was my everything.