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His daily quota hit, his bob cat eyes puffed up into slits of feral fuzz, Giacomo Jones tears himself out of the unfinished algorithm flashing and flashing across his four computer screens like some kind of purgatorial fire. He coughs and chugs the rest of his really cold Guatemalan coffee, his superhairy fingers throbbing, screaming, throbbing all over his comic strip-cluttered desk. He…
