My nemesis.
Lenox was hopping last night as your TS beat his liver into submission, with a good deal of help from his harsh mistress Jameson, as well as her more forgiving cousin (seen above) and some divine catfish stuffed with shrimp.
It was a very kosher evening.
The chatter round the bar was near-consensus jubilation, but there were a few grumbles about John Roberts' flub.
Said the elderly man at the end of the bar: "Thurgood Marshall wouldn't have fucked up."
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