Gary stood in the middle of the coffee shop, wrists locked in a rigid ‘W’ shape, feet stamping to a beat only he could hear. The barista, a woman with a tattoo of a dancing cactus, stared at him like he’d just stolen the last slice of pizza in a zombie apocalypse. “You’re supposed to bounce,” she said, voice flat. Gary bounced. His knees made noise. A low, wet *thunk*. The customers gasped. A toddler threw a muffin.\n”It’s a *viral* dance,” Gary hissed, wobbling into a spin. His shirt rode up, revealing a belt of energy drinks. The cactus woman sighed, slapping a “Renegade Challenge” sign onto the counter. “You’re doing it wrong.”\n”No, no, this is the *new* version,” Gary said, launching into a sequence of moves that resembled a confused raccoon. The coffee machine hissed. A patron yelled, “I’m calling the cops!”\nThen it happened. Gary’s left shoe flew off, launched by a misguided hip check. It ricocheted off a milk pitcher, knocking over a tower of paper cups. The shop went silent. Gary stood there, socked foot tapping, as the cactus woman dropped a $20 bill into his hand. “That’s for the entertainment,” she said. “But next time, just… don’t.”\nGary left with a new mission: mastering the dance. The coffee shop? Still recovering.\n
