Perceiving the air's beat, He positioned his feet as expected. Bewitched by the rhythm asserted, His paraphernalia did compliment his treat. Pulling junks and unusual stuffs, He settled on a cracky old muddy stage. 'Hey! , the beat of life did constitute my rage', He thundered, as to the inspirationist he did cast the stuffs. Being possessed by his virtuous talent, He resumed his usual relay. As the littlun did squeeze sound out of their traditional gadget, He consciously maintained the unconscious alley. 'Away! , here he comes; the pouncer.' 'Be not away! , he is sane but 'A street dancer''. C.2017