Meeting Portable, The Mad Musician

A thousand street fights in one week will make a society hate you. Nobody will understand you — not even when your verbiage is a string of jumbled jargon. You’re famous, yes. Suddenly famous from just one radio hit. But now, they want to see you crucified because you’re too loud, you don’t know your place, you don’t genuflect to your elders, you don’t follow the familiar formulas, you walk like the gods of instant reversal of fortune (whom the entire country viscerally fears) have nothing on you. Who the F are you?

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