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Chapter Fifty-Seven - Assassination
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Chapter Fifty-Nine - Popularity
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... and art is a bitch, ya know?
Man, used to be that art meant something. Now some punk kid in some backwater shithole neighbourhood makes some trashcan hip-hip about how shit life is, gets picked up by a label, and a week later he’s ODed off some blow he sniffed from his new corpo wife’s rack, meanwhile, everything he’s made, everything he stood for has been mined and broken apart and sold to the highest bidder.”
--Scoop Doge, from his penthouse suite in Ohio Two, 2051
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