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Summary
…Tap-dancing fills the room, and for all his cartoonish gleam and impossible figure with no real-world weight, he’s here, by gum, soft-shoein’ it on the only clean strip of linoleum in your cramped studio room.
A swing band blares from nowhere—but somehow, from behind his wagging uvula, your blue heaven, with his face thrown skyward, is torching up a tune that goes, “Well, sir! All I can say is if I were a bell, I’d be RIII-iiinngINGgg…!”
It’s as if your breakdown is just another part of a floor show…