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So this guy stops me on the street...

I'm walking to the grocery store today, and this guy who looked to be in his mid-20s approaches.

"Excuse me, but do you happen to know where there's a Baptist church around here?"

"Um, I'm not sure. I'm really no expert."

"What about just an area with a lot of churches? If I go this way [nods towards the south] are there any churches down there?"
"No, just a big lumberyard."
"Ok, well, thanks anyway."

Now if I were Neil Gaiman, I'd have rushed home and started writing a short story about how this guy was really an emissary from the Devil. He'd just gotten off at the Greyhound station in Ann Arbor, where he'd never been before, but he knew he was supposed to find this old Baptist preacher that his boss had had some run-in with years before in the bad part of Pittsburgh.

Instead, I came home and read this New Yorker article about Anthony Kennedy's predilections for citing foreign law. Obviously, I'm no Neil Gaiman.

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