As the curtain dropped, the thin and tiny dancers spun, leaving shadows dancing on their own. With movement, the orchestra rumbled into existence like an old, but trusted engine, the story, if there was one to tell, came to life and extended to a peak.

Those in attendance, were mostly astonished by the playwrights sardonic ebb and flow. Jaws hung like meat from the ceiling of an old delicatessen as earth tone lights dodged about and around folks ears, gently tilting through a myriad of pleasant poses.

The now heavy and breathy air in the theater coalesced as the heat of the story changed the room. Hands were clenched and teeth were squeezed as purpose slowly but surely found the dimly lit theater, deep in the heart of the old, dark city.

At the top of that coaster that night, the leading gal crooned, wept and danced to the delight of many. Her savior and his foil, battled the war of children, the director beamed a sullen and mysterious glee as his creation came to life.

One gasp followed another that evening as notions simply chugged along like the underground train. All applause for the players in the end was loud, honest and ornery then after the show behind the deep red and dangling curtain laid the pats of many, on the backs of others.

No smile to big and no lid to low as the bubbly and fine foods found the lips of those aboard the dream. Then, at the exact moment the intrigue of the performance trickled into a thousand tomorrows, there was Joy, quite subtle, but existent, quietly dancing the pretty little dance, of the thin and tiny dancers.