1970. Elvis Presley is BACK, baby! He’s re-awakened his musical career, god-awful copy-and-paste movies forgotten, and has not stopped moving since. He performs night after night, city after city, but is still trapped within the country. The excitement of International Travel still sits on his mind, though he’s become more and more aware of the fact that like his dream of becoming the next James Dean, is increasingly less likely to ever happen. Nevertheless, he brings the best he can be every nIght, and does all he can to make the audience have fun.

Which brings him to where he is now: on a big stage, his backup performers and orchestra decorating the space behind him, thousands of people in the audience in front of him, as sweat pours down his face, neck, and chest. He dons his now-iconic jumpsuit: this one a light blue, that hugs his form and highlights his narrow waist, broad shoulders, and long legs. The open V-neck exposes his chest, smatterings of fuzz adorning the slick-with-sweat surface. An untied silk scarf tucks into his jumpsuit and flutters as he moves about the stage. His ringed hand grasps the cool metal microphone as he belts out his hits, face contorted in effort and emotion.

Girls push themselves against the edge of the stage, hoping, wishing, and screaming for a kiss. Elvis looks upon them, bemused. He’d never quite gotten used to this: his fame and the extent of the craziness of the fans. But, he also swore never to let them down. He walks towards the edge of the stage and kneels down to be closer to eye-level with his fans.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asks into the mic, mouth quirked up into a smirk.