Standing on the bottom step of the ramshackle porch outside my single-wide trailer, beer in one hand and cigarette in the other (side note: I quit smoking almost a decade ago), our conversation rambled from one topic to any number of unrelated others. It was me, my wife, and one of my good friends from college, who was in town to visit, and we were getting together at my place for a weekend of debauchery, which sounds much cooler than it really was. In reality, all we did was network our computers together to play first-person shooter games, drink cheap beer (since it was all we could afford at the time) and bond over the experience.
As the wind chill cut through the haze of smoke, I listened to my friend rattle off another story about what was happening back in the old college town, when suddenly, he stopped, mid-sentence, and said, "You know, Josh, I hate it when you do that."
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