Hip-hop, the hippie and Trevor, boy, Trevor does not stop a rockin’ to any sort of beats as he struts all of his metal funk on the disco floor.
A tip tappity of his iron tarsals on rainbow lighted glass. Red with every jump, blue upon overjoyed skips.
Trevor was at peace, Trevor had hung up his cloak of vengeance, put away his weapons of evil and erected a barrier of safety against a bewildered world.
He would do what he wanted and be who he wished. He was no longer the super villain he had been dared to be. He wanted to dominate his life and his happiness and his first request of the genie was to dance.
Trevor loved to dance, not that he was a virtuoso, but half of dancing is confidence, and with his steeled defence system no one could bring him down from this ninth cloud.
Music washed across the air, permeating ear drums and slipping between the gaps in the mass, before sliding with ease into the brains of all.
Trevor moved more, his robot legs never tiring, his human arms a little sore, his laughter a Wyndham tripod’s calling and his grin as wide as the Grand Canyon.