POV: You're an ant on the dance floor
2My DDR mat at home is broken, so I decided to go to the local arcade and play some doubles. I'm horribly out of practice so I just did some easier songs.
I guess if you're an ant, I'll make a joke about stepping on you or something. Read on if you feel like it.
The usually-obnoxious blaring of postmodern dance music was filling your ears even more than usual today, and the bright pink lights that had once causes damaged your retinas were in this moment as carnation Suns to you. What you hadn't noticed before now were the steps of the figure in front of you, now booming quakes to your tiny body. At this size, your senses could now be shaken by even the simplest moves of the party's dancers. The one you had landed in front of seemed content with practicing his craft relatively alone--unbeknownst to him, of course, he had his admirers, some similarly-sized and behind him, and of course the one in front, who might be crushed underneath the weight of his track shoes like little more than a bug. His legs reached for meters upon meters, the top of his shorts too high to fathom. Why were you so small? Why were you this dancer's audience? Such questions had no relevance. Thinking about them would be impossible amidst the lights and sounds that were surrounding you. You might as well sit back and enjoy the show...