return of the native

Today I visited the birthplace of my secondary education career and the birthplace of my legal career.

It was a good day.

Better still, Mike was there in my old office (which is his old office), with all his characteristic wit, knowledge of trivia, and condiments from Jack-in-the-Box (where he has yet to resurrect his discount). We admired Mike's 10-month-old son via video clip; talked life, work, and studying abroad; and looked out at the ducks in the pond. We also lamented the intrusion of framed artwork upon the previously pristine walls of our erstwhile office.

Actually, we should've lamented the loss of the sickly-green/tan-board-whiteboard-wannabe, but I forgot.

Anyhow, afterwards I went to see the latest evidence decorating Roger's office, which included a smashed up Rolex watch and the imprints of a PI client's teeth. Yes, the practice of law is that exciting.

The only bad part of the expedition was that they gave me all the junk mail that's been collecting for me. I wonder how many trees are slaughtered for the sake of sending junk mail to lawyers. Save the trees, please, junk mail people.