My hips and knees are shot from squatting and doing splits onstage. No appreciation, no adequate health coverage, a bad rash from women sticking dirty bills in my waistband. Desperate for cash, I had to sell patches of my chest hair online. Once that runs out, I'll have to use other body hair. I thought I had a lifetime career I could build on, maybe get my own reality show. My dreams were squashed when those geniuses developed virtual exotic dancers you could bring into your home as holograms. That gave people the power to decide which positions each dancer would assume and what facial expressions they would display. And it only cost a fraction of what patrons were shelling out at these clubs.
I'm still relatively attractive. Maybe I could run for office.
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