It’s where writers who don’t become famous go—chapter one.

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Trancegirl was Dancegirl’s sister, a twin actually. Everyone knew Dancegirl. She was in all the clubs, all the time, wearing her sparkly clothes, not

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much of them, and dancing, dancing, dancing.

Trancegirl was a different sort. She stood outside the Underground entrance, counting the people going in, counting the people going out.






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“Please, Mr. Passionate, you have to listen to me!” she implored the Assistant Deputy Transportation Commissioner. “I’ve got statistics here–records–photos. More people going in, than coming out. More–more.”

“We don’t care. We’re not involved with that. We don’t care if they don’t come back. Who are they anyway?”
“But can’t you see the dwindling return? The lack of customers?”
“Hmmm. Okay, are there less people going in than before?”

“Less people. Hmm. That’s not good. What are you doing for lunch?”

“Well, probably a piece of pizza.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you there, and afterwards, we’ll watch the people go into the Underground. What station?”

Finally, Trancegirl got someone to listen to her, even if she did have to wear an extremely short skirt.

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