Beat It

Even in the noise, he has no idea of the atmosphere that he is creating. Focused. Song to song. "I have to make it last." he think to himself. But it is lasting. It's expanding. The crowd hops, jumps, shakes, yells! They crave more--They don't know what they want until it's given to them. Still, he's isolated behind the booth, peering into the crowd periodically to gauge the charisma; the enthusiasm of his art. It' methodical to him. Precise. This process is second nature. He breathes as naturally as he spins. Friends and strangers alike enjoy what he has to offer and his ego--if you can find one--maintains the composure of a professional. If he only could feel the exhilaration that he has created. The collective force of that energy would bring him to tears of joy; dropping to his knees by the overwhelming waves of emotion. More screams of praise, more adoration in the form of smiles. Giddy girls. Bouncy boys. Harmonious humans finding a peace to last at least the night. And here I am to record it; an attempt to capture a fraction of the moment that I'm caught in. It's impossible, really. Even a video tape of this phenomenon would not transmit the energy. I haven't danced in 10 minutes now, and still I sweat from the body heat emanating from this room. Hot! Beads on my brow, I bid farewell to this pen so I can partake.