In the kitchen, he poured another drink and looked at the bedroom suite in his front yard.
...
Now and then a car slowed and people stared. But no one stopped. It occurred to him that he wouldn't, either.
"It must be a yard sale," the girl said to the boy. This girl and this boy were furnishing a little apartment.
...
They drank. They listened to the record. And then the man put on another.
Why don't you kids dance? he decided to say, and then he said it. "Why don't you dance?"
—Raymond Carver, Why Don't You Dance?, 1978