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An ad for cigars appears in 100,000 newspapers; sales of that brand increase by 3% for a short time thereafter.
A new play receives a viciously negative review in a theatrical journal that prints 500 copies; the playwright shoots himself.
Who's the better writer?
It's a Polaroid instant.
Pure.
Electric.
Painful joy.
Stare at the mess.
Take in the awful,
guilt-ridden,
decaying debris.
Must get a cleaner,
Or a kleenex.
Tomorrow is another day.
It was dancing all right, but what with Thatcher and everything, it honestly seemed to be dancing to destruction.
'I recall the smell of soot and iron. The sound of mud larks screaming obscenities at each other. I recall a horse dying one hot summer's day. Dropping where it stood. I recall chimneys. I recall a girl without a jaw.'
And I fucking hate that about myself.