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Decline and Fall of the Western World

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After a while they all look the same. Blank faces, blow-dried hair and breasts bursting from low cut tops. Bodies undulate to the hypnotic, androgynous beat of the Bee Gees or the Village People. Is this how it was when the orchestra soothed the passengers of Titanic as they sank to their icy graves or Nero fiddled while Rome burned? He chokes on the smell of sweat, Paco Rabanne and longing. The good ones are always taken. The others go back to wander their mansions of empty rooms with even emptier souls. They’re all just trying to stay alive.