so put away that meat you’re selling...
On Saturday morning, at 4:39 a.m. Eastern time, I received the following curious message on my voicemail:
Xavier, I want to let you know that you are the trombone in our musical group. You throw your arms back and forth, and somehow everything comes out melodic, despite the cacophony that surrounds you. We love you, we miss you. Harold, his conscience, and Quentin. We'll talk to you soon. Bye.
Drunken law students are funny. Heh.
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