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May 28, 2003
Mr. Calloway backed away from me in what I presumed to be nervousness. I took advantage of his uncertainty to pour out half of my beer onto the papers on his desk.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He tried pulling me away, but I wrenched my arm free and grabbed the bottle meant for him. I ducked behind his back and began pouring the contents into his briefcase. From behind he bearhugged me, pinning both of my flailing arm to my sides in the embrace I’d been looking for.

I screamed at the top of my lungs in delight.