People who stepped off at the station of modernity each boarded their buses, arriving at homes where they nurtured and safeguarded happiness and freedom. And now, those who missed the bus and those who could never live in those homes are knocking on doors around the world, pleading to be let in. Will we welcome them, turn them away, or surrender our place to them? Every train, bus, and home is already full. They are not the innocent little ghosts of Halloween—they carry their wounds. How should we face them? —Even if we cannot offer them hospitality, perhaps we can dance with them.— Not in a crowded hall where everyone jostles to prove their goodness, but on a lovely balcony called Fairness, where a refreshing breeze stirs tawny and black hair. Tickets and house keys are not invitations here. Let’s set aside the elaborate authentication systems and security locks, and instead surrender to melodies we’ve never heard before and rhythms that make our hearts dance. This is a floor where passive freedom is protected, and active indifference is preserved. A gentleman steps gracefully in someone else’s shoes. A lady dons a dress of tolerance and duty. And so, we keep dancing.