In the 1970s, David Bowie was shovelling so much Bolivian marching powder into his available orifices that sobriety threatened the economic stability of the global market. Even when he eventually got clean, the lingering remnants of a narcotic onslaught, hitherto unknown in human history, rendered it impossible for him to wander past a sniffer dog without being accosted. His dark Thin White Duke era saw him subsumed by the decadent excesses of …
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