This guy rules.

He's standing on the edge of the platform, as close as he can stand without falling onto the tracks. So close that when the train arrives the gust of air will blow him back a step.

No. No, it won't do that at all. Because this dude's got it, the beat THE BEAT, and it's traveling through his bones, turning his knees into bouncing rubber balls, giving him a skull that can't hold itself straight and must instead be constantly in motion, rolling this way, then that way, then my way, then your way.

I'll call him the Dancing Dude--no. No, he's the Bouncing Bandit, burgling the groove from The Man and giving it back to The People. His jeans are torn and too-short and his boots are scuffed and too-tall, but he does not care. Clothes do not give him his style, his style gives him his style.

The Bouncing Bandito eats Bean Burritos because Alliteration is his Angle. He Cannot be Contained, Curtailed, or Conquered--he is, instead, Famous for his Fantastic Funk and he will leave you Flabbergasted and Fawning at his Feet.

I want to know what he's listening to in his headphones, but I don't think I could handle it.