“Because you have no money and smoke hashish all day long,” the beast answers. 
      “Yes, but what’s the real reason?” Implores Elvis.
      The third musician strums a double stringed oud … striking a combination of rhythm and bass that provides solid ground under the wild ranging’s of Elvis, the bouzouki player, and the echoing tones of the beast on guitar. The oud player never sings, shows no personality, and never lets down the bottom end.
      A middle aged woman stands up, lifts her arms to shoulder height, moves her hips and begins to dance. Her steps are light, and drawn from a lifetime of dancing, and the movement is at once traditional, and at the same time entirely her own. Her hands move with gestures that grow from within the dance. The woman’s head is high and proud, and her face bears a smile that has as many shades of meaning as the wagging of her slender fingers.
      A short, very round man of seventy-five pulls himself to his feet, and stands, swaying, in front of the dancing woman. He claps his hands, lightly, to encourage the woman in her dance. His look is one of appreciation and pride. He’s bent over slightly, as if he’s to launch into dance, himself, but only sways and continues to encourage the woman. 
      When the woman’s dance is done, she sits, as does the short, very round man, but when the musicians have finished sipping their beer and begin a song about the pure heart, the true heart, the path you know is real, the short very round man gets back up and begins his own delicate dance.
      He is a great dancer. Despite his considerable weight, he is light enough to make you forget about gravity for a while. His are not the spectacular gravity fighting leaps of Nureyev and Baryshnikov, he is somehow simply suspended and supple in midair. His deep blue eyes look far past the crowd, and he dances only for himself.

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