"Why do you think the bartender gave us those shots?" John asks. We walk home into the frigid wind knifing up Flatbush Avenue. "Did we tip well?"
I can still taste the smoky pong of the mezcal as I reply, "Maybe it was a buyback."
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One year ago: What the Cat Said
Two years ago: Office Odors
Three years ago: Discipline
Four years ago: Wait, You Guys Have Some of My Books? Which ones?
Seven years ago: 3-4-10 late edition
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