I met old & new friends at a soul DJ show in Echo Park.
It's a vehicle for white people to dance to music made by black people that black people haven't listened to in decades. That said, the music is of quality and it is popularly viewed as a good time.

I experienced people frequently bumping into me and cutting in line at the bar. It seems I wasn't fond of that. The mirror behind the bar exposed me as a steamed wet blanket.

Two-fisting with fellow wallflowers entranced by the vintage soul slideshow, I decided to go into the nucleus of the action.
It would force me to enjoy it.
A rare moment of dead air granted me access.
I found my old friend Dunbar and de-fisted one beer to him.
The surrounding company was in good spirits.
Nine seconds of mid-tempo funk.
I made a few motions that felt very stupid.
An unsure scarecrow.
"I think I hate this," I told Dunbar.
My elbow wondered what it was doing.
My beer was getting embarrassed.
"Yeah, I hate this," I confirmed.
And went poof.

I had forgotten that I'm still an introvert.
The amount of alcohol it would take to extrovert me would complicate transpo logistics.

And that was my Saturday night in Echo Park.