There's a hall in Berkley where the ceiling teaches you how to stand.

October first, twenty twenty-four. Berkley, Colorado. Sometimes you just gotta dance. Someone flipped a switch and the floor lit up blue, green, red — Salsa class, lined up like a quiet congregation waiting for the next count. Here's the one thing I keep turning over: rooms teach you their rhythm before people do. Coffered ceilings hush a crowd. Arched windows pull your shoulders back. The disco lights don't make the dance — the room was already humming, and the lights just gave it a color. Next old hall you walk into, listen before you look. The building has notes too.