the smuggler’s bible


Kimo is caught off guard for several beats. The steps are incredibly complicated and the dancers take great pains to disguise their actions. But, he realizes, wheeling backwards after a spinning kick lands, vision blurred from the elbow that preceded it, there is a rhythm.

He opens wide and feels the tempo. The metronome ticks, ticks again and the needle drops into the groove. Kimo reaches out and catches a fist in the palm of his hand.

His dance partners begin to stumble. Kimo sways and walks the grapevine, striking like a whip, feeling the spotlight hot on his face.