Propounded imbroglio, sub rosa.
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2005-05-12 - 7:38 p.m.
There is a walk that takes about twelve or thirteen minutes between the Octagon and Scott's house. About ten minutes into this walk, Scott interrupts my telling of a riveting story by saying, "Hold on a minute, it's just that I see my sandwiches are ready." Sure enough, sitting on top of a concrete wall, tucked nearly out of view, a nice glad-wrapped package of sanwiches. Beef and gravy.
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