The crisp night air is something filled with sounds of jazz club goers waiting to get into Pandora’s Box, the line seems to be something of a long dread more then fifteen people deep. Flowing through the wall the camera does into the heart of this den of the pseudo-southern jazz club. Circling the room five figures stand out against the grain, rather than close up shots the view lowers down to the basement off of the Jazz Man.
Sitting at his table he speaks into a laptop which has displayed upon it’s luminessence screen is the only light in the room.
“I have your children waiting to come to my office, I will do my best to shape them up. For those that don’t shape up….”
Before Jazz Man is able to finish the sentence he pauses with a slight nod at the screen. Just then the door to his office opens up and before the figures can enter the down from the upstairs the laptop is shut.