9/26-tiny dancer

he is lithe. an elder gentleman that floats more than moves across the stage. the crowd thrills to the spin of his tie as he holds his arms taught in pirouette. the partner flies through the air, towards him, her muscular legs straight toes pointed piercing the distance between them. there is a piano playing a singer singing about tiny dancers and they meet. there is a gasp as the passion of their bodies colliding eyes connecting washes over the audience.
it takes a moment, then as she turns away, as she walks away as someone tear filled eyes screams 'no!' the music stops the light fade. all dark you can hear the crowd weeping, gnashing their teeth screaming 'it can't end like this!', suddenly a spotlight. he is bathed in white, he is standing low, like a man broken, a beaten down 65 year old ex republican senator. he has lost his life, his love and the frustration, anger of the moment the impossible pain of being alone explodes out from him.
'ahhhh!', he screams launching his appendages from as if they are missles being launched only to hit the extent of his reach then slamming back towards his chest until he is a huddled mass collapsed into a crouch as a slow beat begins to fade in 'shwoop shwoop pitcha pitcha shwoop shwoop pitcha' and he rises.
'ba dat' goes the sound, then silence, then he begins again dancing, tap dancing with a great fury. he is pounding out the sound with a veracity of the starved man.
'bah bah' goes the music. he spins his gray hair perfectly still while he leaps onto garbage cans kicking them over banging the lid always keeping perfect rhythm with his feet. as he moves, as the music thumps the crowd becomes swept in begin to snap their fingers then clap then stomp until the theater is filled with the thunder of human sound.
'arrrrh!' he cries and moves towards the center, sweat pouring, once taught tie is grasped as if it were a snake. he wrestles it taps while shaking it squeezing knuckles white then in one brilliant motion he spins stomping his heel and in mid spin the tie is thrown into the air 'whoosh' the crowd stands to applaud and from off stage comes another sound the weeping of a broken lover.
she appears, he is now open collard and pounding his chest more animal than man as she come leaping, twirling towards him. she takes a chord and moves towards the sky, circling his head as he is frantic pounding trying to break the wood stage floor.
the move the crowd is soaring with them until it goes black for an instant, goes silent then before one could catch their breath the spotlight comes on and she is covering him he is still across her lap as she strokes his hair and then finally there is black and the crush of applause.

2
somewhere there is a man with a mustache, he is regular looking plain with glasses. this man, joe smith, is sucking a pencil studying the numbers.
'there is something fishy going on.' he mumbles across the pencil in his mouth.
'but is there enough for the news?' says another man only known as editor.
they are huddled near a computer monitor like parents over a new born. there is a sense of fear and excitement that cuts across their faces shaking the editor's old loose jowls.
'i am not going to lay my reputation on the line for a witch hunt', says a beautiful big chested brunette known as Lisa Koin, she is the anchor.
'there definitely is something but we need more time.' says joe.
'well we have to get the story out to own it,' says the editor.
'i have a fucking peabody i don't want to risk it on something that could or could not be complete shit. i say break it on cable.' says Lisa Koin her chest heaving as she runs a ruby red finger through her hair.
'brilliant!' calls the editor causing his huge stomach to leap as if startled.
joe takes the pencil from his mouth, turns it so that the eraser is facing the screen, taps the screen and says, 'this is our way in.'
all three peer in.
'what we will do is get ted from that damned left wing screecher's show and paul from that other's radio show. tonight we put it in the middle of the television show then run it across the breaking news crawler. tomorrow we use it as a seccond hour call in topic. then we watch if it's good tinder the fire should take care of itself.' says the editor.
'and if we're wrong?' says joe.
the editor's gigantic body began to convulse as laughter slowly fell from his billowing purple lips, 'we're never wrong, we just abandon the topic, or we find something in the response that we can also interpret into an attack.'
'well if i am talking about it, we know we got something. now if you'll excuse me it takes some preparation to win my time slot.'
as lisa koin took her perfume, hour glass figure and vivacious breasts out the door the editor turns to joe, 'so how do we frame it?'
they turn and begin to work.

3.-practice makes perfect