A girl danced past me. It was cold, but she wore shorts. Her hair twirled through the compartment, her butt swaying. Despite the silence-signs she had a loud, hoarse voice that didn’t seem to have a lot to say. She carried flyers or leaflets, it was hard to say what for exactly. Suddenly everything clicked in my head. The silver sequince on her shorts, her party voice and the time of year, she was handing out Amsterdam Dance Event flyers. But in a flash she reached the other side of the compartment, leaving behind a trail of colored paper. I saw how she, while dancing, had handed a flyer to most people, but she had skipped me. On purpose? Amused I pulled up an eyebrow. Apparently I didn’t look like I enjoyed a party.