The deejay serves as their conductor, playing their desire until it's one finely calibrated, ear-shattering symphony of prepubescent frenzy. Still they must wait. Lil Bow Wow, needs his rest. And so, backstage in his dressing room, he curls up on a couch. His eyes are light brown and extravagantly lashed, his chestnut hair coiled in elaborate cornrows that stretch down to just above his shoulders.
Dimples poke through from time to time.
When he smiles. He's certainly not smiling now. When you're number one, you have to do everything in your power to stay number one. Think Michael Jackson before the nose job. Life is good.