The Parallax Deceiver
ACT ONE: THE OPEN MIC The basement in Bushwick smelled like stale beer and somebody's grandmother's collard greens, and Marcus Blackwell stood behind the microphone with his eyes closed, listening to the hum of the feedback loop like a bee trapped in a jar, and when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were not his. They had never been his. Not really. But tonight, for the first time,...
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