Somewhere around the last years of my drinking I decided to go to law school. It was not a very well thought-out plan. One night I was holding court in my usual loud-mouthed fashion on my barstool at Boston’s Beacon Hill Pub when someone remarked, "You ought to be a lawyer." At the time, I was so bereft of my own ideas, so starved for direction, that I took the chance comment of a virtual stranger and determined forthwith to build my life around it. Yes, I thought to...
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