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Obscure Conversation

A lavish drawing room, the amber glow of the fireplace flickers against the polished mahogany. Two gentlemen, clad in the finest evening wear, recline in their high-backed leather chairs, sipping tea from delicate porcelain cups.

GENTLEMEN
Percival : Ah, my dear fellow, have you observed the peculiar state of digital society as of late?
Winthrop : Indeed, old sport. The avenues of public expression seem to have become rather... selective in their outreach. A most fascinating development, wouldn't you say?
Percival : Oh, quite. It appears that the town criers of yore — those passionate troubadours who once regaled the masses with their unfiltered musings — have found themselves somewhat... unheard.
Winthrop : Ah, but surely this is not by mere happenstance. One could surmise that an unseen hand, benevolent in its intent, has sought to guide the flow of public discourse toward a more... curated experience.
Percival : Curated, indeed. A most delicate orchestration, wherein only the most distinguished voices — those of a certain pedigree — are afforded the honor of true amplification.
Winthrop : A necessity, I suppose. The common man, left unchecked, might find himself burdened with excessive visibility and — perish the thought — pecuniary gain from his endeavors.
Percival : Ah, but we mustn't be ungrateful! After all, what finer luxury exists than obscurity? To tootle one's craft into the vast ether, free from the suffocating embrace of an audience?
Winthrop : A most liberating predicament! And to think — there was once a time when any chap with a lute and a dream could summon an eager crowd.
Percival : Frightful era, that. Absolute mayhem. The rabble, flourishing without proper vetting? Unthinkable.
Winthrop : And so, dear friend, we raise our cups to the guardians of taste, the stewards of refinement, the arbiters of modern visibility.

They clink their teacups, gazing wistfully into the fire, as the distant sound of an unseen algorithm rearranging the fate of countless creators echoes through the hallowed halls of digital propriety.

CUPS
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