Bebooted

There were the long-haired, bebooted mini[-]marrieds, some suits, Dr. Zhivago velvets, raccoon coats, and silly millimeter longer scarves and bookbags, not to mention vests, Mademoiselle magazine, cords and twisted buns topping sensible sweaters and glasses.

“I’ve danced all my life, but this is the greatest,” said the bebooted Arnaud, who turns her red head to watch Deason as she calls intricate foot moves, “Quick, quick, slow,” from her cordless microphone.

“No way this one’s going to miss us this time,” burbles one bebooted doomsdayer to another.