Dear woman in the wheelchair last night,
Last night I went out at Caramanchel in Managua, and there you were, on the dance floor in a wheelchair, surrounded by your friends. I fell in love with the way in which your wheelchair essentially disappeared.
Your friends took turns spinning you around and dancing for you. Your face was lit up as you jived to the beat. I went up and danced with you, then high fived you. I asked if it was your birthday. It looked like such a celebration. “No, it’s my coworker’s birthday!” I think you said. I couldn’t hear much, and as I write this, my ears are still ringing from the music.
Then, I shared a cold Heineken with you, which you passed off to your friend. She promptly it held against her cheek to cool off.