I mean… it’s not as if he is actually cuddled and surrounded by the music, nor radiating colours that blend into one another as the tempo or key changes, but he may as well be. He’s sat at the back, alone only because everyone else nearly has finished work for the day. He cracks on with the work though, piles through his expected target and carries on, pushing for the end that never comes. Contact is maintained though, he enjoys the friendship of the people here but, at times like this, when there is no-one to talk to nearby, he’ll happily listen to the music and become truly embroiled in it, within it, all around it. In fact he breathes the music in, fuses it to his very soul. It clads the scaffolding of his skeletal system like a second layer of muscle, such is the reaction to what he hears.
The pace of his body, its autonomic functions and active movements become, in turn, a reflection of the beat that propels what he is listening to. That, as a consequence, becomes the beat of his being at that point in time. It changes only at the whim of the DJ, the flick of a switch, from hardcore to punk to hardcore punk to electric to magic and back again. The finger taps on the keyboard, the clenching of the muscles continue, and even the closing of his eyelids are all timed with the beat that the heart follows.