6th Jackson
“Nobody likes hard work, and sadly, hard work is the key,” said Kayode as we sat down onto his homey couch with rough leather seats. Kayode, with his thick curly mop of brown hair that dominates his narrow face and corrugated forehead, wrinkled by many peaks and trenches, began to hum a song written by his favorite artist, Michael Jackson. “Hard work beats talent when talent refuses to work hard,” he said as he adjusted his posture on the couch. That is the motto of Kayode Omonayin, one of the greatest dancers, and hardest workers I know. With his legs in an Indian style position as if he was trying to take up less space than his prodigious, muscular stature already did, several valley-like creases on his acne-filled forehead, and his fondling of his countable pieces of goat-like facial hair, he began to attempt to recollect the beginning of his story. From as early as he could remember, Kayode had always been a very lively and animated character.
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That night was the night that changed his life. That night was the night Kayode broke his chains of slavery to the demon named demureness. Naturally, Kayode would have never had the intestinal fortitude to do what he did that luminous night, but his two God sent helpers miffed him all night to display his talents. They were like two flies that repeatedly enter one’s ears and nostrils and refused to die even when swatted. Eventually, after all the pestering by his two comrades, he was persuaded. He approached the Disc Jockey and told him to play the song that initially reignited his flame, and that song was Billy Jean. As he took the stage, he felt free, he didn't feel as nervous as he had been for all these years, he felt like he was dancing in his acrylic stained bathroom again. He had made it where he wanted to be. That night was the genesis of what he hopes to be an august biography one