mind graffiti, feel the trace, fresh cortical stacks clink down the conveyor belt at the soul markets, just another form of currency on this godforsaken planet, scooped up ad hoc, geared up and set back into motion, calamity and jane babe, that's all I'm saying, it's one big gambling circus for the generals, a crude strategy if you ask me, the rest of us are just here to be pawns in the madhouse, all while Semetaire makes a fortune, smiling his voodoo god grin, I need to get off-world, Latimer maybe,
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