at the down syndrome disco i am assisting with the hundreds of extra chromosoned people as they wait to load up on beer and food, some of these people have already had far to much to drink but it's xmas and i'm not one to spoil anyone fun. there's the usual hanky panky as the guys chase the girls, the girls shriek and cavort like imps set free from entrapment, it's getting messy, and i attempt to chat up one of the other volunteers  she's got a book so i ask her what she's reading. 
'it's about the people who have near death experiences.'
'wow, i've had a few.'
'oh this author says they are related to the occult and therefore are intrinsicly evil.'
'well that's just wrong' i say feeling nervous that this crazy lady is probably a born again christian and now i'm stuck with her for the whole night. 'well maybe the author never ever had a near death experience, i would have thought that the consideration of life after death is highly scientific, after all energy can't be destroyed only changed.'
she's giving me that blank expression, the one that born again people have. i shake my head, never fails to amaze me how people can reject the idea of reincarnation, it's fucking obvious to me.
anyway's the downs syndrome people are all sitting around waiting for something to happen, they all look happy and joyous, hugging and kissing, shaking hands, it's a good atmosphere but no one is dancing. the dj plays all the classics, springsteen, prince, the rolling stones and then, at the first note of dancing queen, abba these little people are up and doing all the moves, my my, i've never seen anything like it, the place comes alive as disco lights flash and glitter-balls twirl, we are on the abba express, it's abba non stop now, and i feel very left out. why don't i feel this type of joy at the sound of 'waterloo' and 'money money money.' 
am i missing something?
i am the only soul sitting down, even the born again girl is frocking around in her pink dress looking like she's just snorted some pixie dust. i really feel outta place, it's saturday night, i should be at home writing my book, a song, or at least in a coffee shop chatting to a sexy norwegian backpacker with nice eyes and a soft unearthly voice like an angel. these downs syndrome people know how to have a good time, not like me, miserable old fool!