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Welcome

Twenty-five

When I was in grad school the first time (in the dance program at the University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana), my friend Daphne and I formed a dance company. Daphne was from Oklahoma, and she got us a couple of gigs there. So we drove my Nissan Pathfinder to Oklahoma City.

Somewhere on Interstate 40, I looked up at a billboard and I swear I saw the number 25 on it.  As we got closer to the sign, I realized there was no 25 on the sign at all. I assumed it was something mystical and moved on.

Flash forward a couple of days. We’re at the community center (where one of our shows is scheduled) waiting for someone to come and unlock the doors. I think of the billboard with the mystical 25 and wonder what it meant. Then I look up at one of the bricks in the wall that I’m standing next to. I see a $25.00 price tag stuck to the brick. Is that ridiculous or what? To this day, I am convinced that the number 25 holds some sort of power for me.

25

That’s my story about a brick.

 

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