Ira Robbins, Pulse!, March 1997
IT'S DECONSTRUCTION time again. Right now, there's a sophomore somewhere hunkered down on the floor of his dorm room, a cigarette in one hand and a pen in the other. Every so often, a look of recognition followed by a crooked smile crosses his face, and he stabs at a notebook, scrawling out his observations and analyses of what's on the stereo.
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