Sitting in a western style bar, a whisky on the rocks in his hand, Simon watched as the people danced. Boots hitting the ground in time to the music. He took a light sip of his drink, watching one specific person under the rim of his stetson hat:

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He didn’t know their name yet, but he sure knew how they liked to dance. Downing the last of his liquid courage, Simon stood, his own boots thumping against the wood floor. Perhaps he did like dancing. Just for tonight.