She was the girl with the golden shoes. She liked to swing dance to jazz music, and when she danced her shoes left behind streaks of gold paint on the dance floor.
She danced at a place called the Mercury Café, which is a dream shared by swing dancers every Thursday night. Inside, little red and white lights on strings hang from the ceiling, and, in some places, there are mirrors on the walls. Some of the mirrors face each other, and those mirrors reflect the red and white lights again and again forever.
Jazz bands would play under the lights, and the girl with the golden shoes would feel the music like it was a cool wind on the back of her neck, or sunlight on her face, and when she felt the wind and the sunlight she would close her eyes and move to the sound. The streaks of gold that her shoes left behind reflected the red and white lights from below, and those who could see the streaks would see lights above and also below the girl, and they would see her and her reflection dancing in the middle of a firework made from jazz.
The girl was new to the city. She knew no one, and at the café one night she said “hello” to many dancers — but many of them ignored her. She felt a coldness coming from the dancers she spoke with, and when she went back to the dance floor she danced a bit more slowly, and left behind fewer streaks of gold.
“Don’t you see?” A voice behind her whispered into her ear. The girl spun around, still moving with the music. But she saw no one. “Ah, too slow!” the voice whispered. The girl spun again, and thought she saw a young person’s face in the corner of her eye. But as soon as she glimpsed the face it was gone again. She looked and spun, looked and spun, looked and spun — but the face always slipped out of view before she could see it fully, like a note that pops and then is gone.
“It’s not me I want you to see,” the voice whispered. “Now that you’ve spun yourself all across the dance floor, I want you to look down.”
The girl looked down, and saw that, in her spinning, she had covered most of the dance floor in streaks of gold. Now, instead of a single firework, the Mercury Café was, above and below, a galaxy of lights filled with gleeful dancers and their reflections moving and swinging through space. “We’re astronauts!” One dancer called out as they swung past the girl.
“See what you can do?” The voice whispered. “When people see what you make, it moves them just like the music does. It ignites them like a breeze that breathes life into a fire.”
“Who are you?” The girl asked… 
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