The Guitreau.

I have a case that’s pending in a Louisiana federal court. I’m the senior associate staffed on the matter, so I have an outside shot of going to Baton Rouge for certain court dates, to take a deposition, or at the very least, watch someone take a deposition while I pick my ass. I was glad to get the case for a number of reasons, but the biggest one is that I’m a generally nostalgic person who thinks that it’d be a bang-up good time to stroll the halls of his old high school, or tour the strip mall wasteland from whence he came up. Maybe I’ll find my rosebud. I suspect it’s the Soundwave shoulder cannon which I buried in my back yard in the fourth grade. I think there’s also some sort of written manifesto buried back there that my neighbor Alice and I came up with. After a decade apart, Alice ended up living in the same freshman dorm as me at NU, dating and breaking up with one of my best friends from college, getting married, and pumping two kids out of her vah-jay-jay. Sheesh. I am old.