Robertson, staring down at the smog from his air-conditioned aerie, feels a reflex irritation at the back of his throat. Suddenly he's glad he gave up smoking. He clears his throat. The whole middle-class rebellion thing is dying out. The declining economy won't support it.
People are too interested in hanging on to their jobs to worry about ideology.
He clears his throat again. Sorrel's career peaked two albums ago. He's going to lose his audience in the next eighteen months. Something has to happen to make him recast his message. The psych profiles aren't encouraging, either.