Dodging the Bullet I Shot at Myself: A Foggy Notion of a Musicians Dilemma.
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"I’m sitting under semi-muted florescent lights in the orange pall of a Dunkin Donuts about 35 miles north of NYC.
As a little reward following the laundromat or a grocery shopping excursion, I often stop here. It’s a combo deal with Baskin Robbins in the space on the left. Along the long corporate-orchestrated counter/barricade, the Dunkin Donuts sits on the right. The days of a world where even Dunkin damn Donuts can stand alone as mere donut shop have ceased to exist, and a cohabitation of the now outdated, sickly-looking aesthetic of the Baskin Robbins has stuck its cone into a plaza in Anytown, USA..."
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