The other day, I walked down a terribly long and flourescent-light filled corridor in the administrative wing of the hospital (yes, it still smelled with bleach and anxiety). The ceiling of the hallway curved in on one side, so that from the outside it was reminiscent of a tunnel and from the inside, you could bump your head if you scooted over an inch too far to let someone pass by to go the other way.

I walked a length behind a tall, rotund, bald man, dressed in the business casual uniform of blue and khaki as we paraded silently past the sedate offices. He wore no headphones, no ear buds, but he walked with an infectious rhythm. I wondered if he was walking with a strange gait, but it had intention. On a different man, I might have thought he was attempting a strut, but this was no strut. It was more like a dance.

His legs were slightly bowed and they swished forward and outwards with each step, like a subtle tendu. I tried to copy it for a few steps as we flowed down the hallway, but then some quick-clicking doctors entered the hallways behind me and I fell in line. Nevertheless, I smiled until I turned aside out of the corridor- letting my feet feel the fleeting dance through space.