I hate to leave you sitting by the mailbox, waiting for this week’s true tale of liquor, lust, and primer gray Camaros, but the sad truth is that I don’t have one for you. No need for concern — all is fine, just more work than time over the last week. That’s a problem you’ll never catch me complaining about.
I’ll be back with a new memoir piece next Monday, and if you’re really jonesing a story about James embarrassing himself; well, here you go.
Why It Matters 
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