Submitted for your approval, one “Mr. Chambers,” a man of no particular importance aside from the fact that he is about to be the sole witness of the freshest moves in the universe. He will receive third degree burns, but the kind that leaves no trace save for the unmistakable mark of the jive turkey. When the Kanamits drop their dope beat, Mr. Chambers has no choice but to start fronting and join humanity’s conga line shimmying across a poorly waxed floor in a dimly lit dance hall called, “The Twilight Zone.”