Whilst living in Australia in the 1990s, I once read in the Melbourne Age newspaper about a dancer in St. Kilda, Melbourne, who was dying of an AIDS-related illness, who used to drive down to the Esplanade everyday and dance on the roof of his car. I think I remember the dancer’s name was “Bruce”. In the article, a friend and local businessman referred to him as “my best friend in the world”. Anyway, I was quite touched by the story and thought it made a compelling metaphor for the celebration of life. A quirky riff and spoken-word celebration of the spirit of life.