Too Short for a Blog Post, Too Long for a Tweet 127

Here's an excerpt from a book I recently read, "Prince: A Private View," by Afshin Shahidi:

Prince walks into a room. This is not the lead line of a joke. Prince walks into many rooms and to say it’s a grand entrance would be like calling the “Mona Lisa” a sketch. It’s not that he enters with fanfare, fireworks, or an entourage. He’s not riding in on an ostrich or an elephant with dancers and lasers. He just enters a room and the energy shifts, worries and concerns evaporate, and a Gabriel García Márquez–esque trance folds over the room and all the possibilities of the world seem to present themselves, falling at your feet. After all, you are occupying the same space as Prince, the molecules and atoms bouncing between your bodies. I’ve watched Prince enter many a room and it’s always the same. You could be the guy working the bar or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, an actor with billions in box office sales, a fashion icon guiding next seasons trends, or a fan who is lucky enough to be there: The moment Prince enters the room you are all the same, mouths slightly agape, eyes tracking the movements of the dynamo who just appeared, trying not to be caught staring but eyes drawn like magnets to his every movement. It’s not his intention to hypnotize those present when he enters, it’s just that he enters with such confidence, swag, and freedom that it can’t be helped. He walks in and his entourage is his music, his hits, his movies, his dancing, his girlfriends, his controversies, and eccentricities. And then he walks up to you and say’s “Hi, I’m Prince,” and the tension is broken.

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