A Tap Dancing Delinquent

Short Version:

My name is Reli Spunzelli. I’m a world-class tap dancer. My taps are so tops, I’ve tapped at Madison Square Garden, the Louvre, and the Great Wall of China. I turn a pair of shoes into an orchestra.

As I dined with the French Arts Ambassador and elite ballet dancers, I felt the urge. I couldn’t bury it any longer. I listened to it and followed a waiter to the kitchen. When I followed, the kitchen tiles revealed my intention. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. I tried to run away, back across the tiles, but my orchestra turned into a nightmare. My footsteps were desperate and I’d never known my feet could produce such ugliness.

I broke down. I dropped the money. I curled into a ball and cried until security came.


 

Long Version:

My name is Reli Spunzelli, a noted choreographer and former tap dancer. I performed at Madison Square Garden, the Louvre, and the Great Wall of China. In my day, no one was better. No one could top my taps; my taps were the tops. I turned a pair of shoes into an orchestra with nothing more than a floor and a little flair.

I achieved everything I wanted in my career.

But I wanted more. There was an urge inside of me that formed, which was an urge I didn’t recognize, since it didn’t involve dancing. At first I dismissed the urge, and it went away. But when I thought it went away, I discovered it was only buried, because it came back stronger than ever, a month later when I was dining with the French Arts Ambassador and a group of elite ballet dancers. We were celebrating a performance. It was a happy time, a happy time except for the urge.

My eye caught a gentleman and his other. They had given a large wad of cash to a waiter, who pocketed the money and walked to the kitchen. I listened to the urge in this moment and it made me follow.

I wanted the money. I didn’t need the money, but I wanted the thrill. Or something.

The kitchen tiles revealed my intentions. My tapping was there. It was tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap until the take. I wrestled the waiter to the ground. I took the money and felt the urge going away, or filling, or whatever it was. I loved it. He yelled for help as I ran away.

I ran across the tiles and the sounds were grotesque. They were off-beat and random and desperate and I’d never known my feet could produce such ugliness.

I broke down crying and dropped the money. I curled into a ball and cried until the restaurant’s hired hands came to get me.

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