"Dear Mr. Darsono," he called his father's name, "you may not believe me, but the master you follow, I am sure will throw us away when we are as useless as two years ago. So as the younger generation in this art group, I will go my own way!"the one who spoke walked away, until when the door opened and he found his colleagues who gasped, he looked back at his father's face, "you can manage me as a son, but not with my career and the people here. As you fight for your hopes, I will do the same. Fighting for my hope and the hope of our performing arts community," he closed his sentence, waltzing away followed by another.
The dancer sat down. He looked back at his face in the mirror. Reaching for a mask that represents a beautiful but deceitful woman behind his head, the man surprisingly breaks a flat object with a slippery surface in front of him while shouting violently.
.
.
