I had a dream about going to the museum. A tall man with dark hair and a moustache was working at the entrance. But other than tickets, he was checking if people can dance. Whoever wanted to go to the exhibition had to prove that they could dance the Lindy Hop, and, more particularly, they had to demonstrate that they can do a sugar push. So, I was standing in the queue and watching the people dance for the tall moustached man in a navy suit, similar to those of ticket controllers. It was a nightmare in a way. Not because of the discrimination on the grounds of dancing (I quite liked it, it’s about time for a dance to become the measure of a person’s value and a tool of snobbism). It was a nightmare because the sugar push some people were doing was a disaster and the moustached man didn’t realise that, so almost everyone was allowed in the museum.