[Carol's on the colored tiles, the lights erupting like cannons aim upwards, and she raises her hands to the mirrorball]
All's I'd need now is some David.
[Behind her Boligard thumbs in Van Halen's China Town Carol shakes her ass and stomps her boots. She swings her ass left and right, slams her head up and down. And then she calms her movements. She kneels on the tiles, she goes cross-legged, looking all Zen. The music fades, dies. She breathes deep, and after a few beats she exhales]
I think you're talking crazy, Boli. But I do believe the elite creatives are up and perked and amoung us. Which is fucking scary. So maybe...