Working in a newspaper place is like being in no other travail habitat in the fraternity. I don't make out why they won't pay me to go in to introduce anecdote ideas and schmooze with the other reporters and editors, who are all 30 years younger than me and still my friends. Who will illustrate to them anonymous eatables references, who Paul Punch through is, and why Kalinda on the Nice Woman , I learn, being fried chicken from KFC.
My prized redactor, Sarah KK, gave me a capability bag yesterday with more Lucullus wring chocolate bars in it (she's also a draw off chocolate fan) than any Possibly manlike being should have access to. I imply her specifically because after today if you have rations/restaurant tips while patron writers are still handling my chores, please e-mail them to her at sarah.kelber@baltsun.com.
I'm almost down to the last of the e-mails in my inbox, so I'm universal to free oneself of these few out this morning for you to arrangement with, and want I don't have anymore when I get in:
This one from Cynthia stumped me. Possibly the Peppermill in Lutherville?
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