pete's
February nights in Yakima are cold, still, quiet.
Inside Pete's, on its last Saturday night as a
dance club, music throbs, pushing bodies into the
fast rhythms of dance. Yakima's winter heartbeat
may be slow, the sky dead gray, the air icy. In
here, a spotlight splits into dazzling rays,
alighting on upturned faces, glittering on the
sparkle of clothes, jewelry, bright smiles. The
dance floor is warm, a current moving contrary to
the frozen stillness outside. This is escape, a
brief, bright awakening, a quick and nimble flame
we fly towards and circle, burning.
