Looking down over the balcony again, it seemed like things were about to begin. The M.C., a dashing stallion dressed in a tailcoat with neatly-brushed hair and a glowing smile, had his assistants arranging all the couples in a grid, spacing them out evenly. It seemed like they were only missing maybe three or four more to fill the dance-floor completely -- and the M.C. was already touring the inner rim of spectators, looking for those final replacements.