 Ah, that music, Fox and Foxy trot on over when the music swings. Music downside up, measure syncopated wild enough for mad hatters hell-bent on the chase, tie for second place, necks numb from necking with a dumb waiter, who opens the gate to rumberousers in loose trousers up all night and to those down on their luck who hit the hay in by-the-day rooms. Band stands, easy bends, sits, stretches its first swing set, notes spilling around couples, loco with motion. Bases and sacks pick up the beat, toss it to couple 21. That's Lois and Clark on the low down from Terry town, who step on it, feel their feet absorb the heat. They fly the floor, not there anymore. Piano keys unlock wish boxes from which dancers spin and grin. Ah, those musicians from tonight's rubber band hitting highs all night, accordion to the blond, lanky lounge lizard who's saving her notes, usually bundled 20s for some goofy gag or gamey gig that pays big bucks, though Wiley Ginny Grinn runs this show out of cell 69. Bookings managed by Matilda, master of arts and potty mouth darts, who waltzes around on tiptoes, jockeying for lead inside position on every ballroom floor in Baltimore. Thanks for listening.