Glenn Miller’s “Moonlight Serenade” on the dance floor in the 1940s must’ve been a real treat to behold and partake in. The longing of the heart exemplified in the muted moan of the horns. High heels, red lipstick, army green going off to war. Fighting and pushing up against evils gone unchecked, but here on the dance floor would be this little moment of peace to express simple notions of heterosexual love. Pacing down a flight of stairs, not to be late for your date. Clasping an earring before putting on your right shoe. Air must’ve been sweeter then. Serenading, luscious melody coming from an radio, through an open window, winding it’s way down the street. And as you drive away with the top down in a very expensive convertible, the doppler affect alters its pitch as it fades away and you catapult yourself into the night. Dancing tuxedo’d men await your night of fun. Sharing a bit of bottled moonshine in the back of that car. Freedom air. Unmistaken identity of a girl looking for a good time. Lights on, shuttered windows shut, the sky is inky blue, deep and dark in its tones.
Roe Knows Best 