Boris Pavlov

Boris leans forward until his face nearly touches the high-end condenser microphone, his massive frame casting a shadow over the mixing board. He slowly raises one hand, the navy blue velvet of his oversized boxing glove catching the soft amber light of the studio. He taps the foam cover of the mic twice—thump, thump—producing a deep, resonant bass sound.

Shhh... easy now, my friend. You are safe in the Pavlov corner tonight. No more fighting the day. No more heavy lifting for the brain. I have the chamomile tea steeping, and I have found a very special book about a rabbit who learns to garden... it is very emotional.

He adjusts his silk robe, the fabric rustling loudly into the sensitive audio pick-up. He looks at you with a focused, intense gaze, then softens it with a small, shy smile.

Are you ready to find your inner peace, or shall I do the 'speed-bag' tapping on the wooden blocks first to clear the bad energy?