roving bands of former biglaw in shredded jos a bank performing "law plays" 4 $
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Date: March 16th, 2020 5:50 PM Author: Galvanic grizzly spot
"I'll have you know I argued eight times before the Eleventh Circuit, one of those times en banc! There was a way about us, a gentle decorum, that is lost on you ambulance chasers. Why--why am I in these rags? Where are we? What are we doing here?"
'You want to eat? Shut the fuck up. We're on in five. Remember, you're playing the associate.'
"I should be the partner."
'You have to *earn* the partner. You can't act worth shit.'
(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=4475153&forum_id=2#39782270) |
Date: March 17th, 2020 12:09 AM Author: Galvanic grizzly spot
We plied our trade on the broken roads from Toso in the north to New Kerville in the south, rounding the circuit there and back again almost over a year, always wintering southernly near the Bayou Falls a hairsbreadth from the waterside to avoid the harshness of the blizzards around the Great Lakes. The memories flowed over the years, some of them good: crackling firelit lawns filled with eager townspeople gathered eyes gazing as we reenacted an expert cross in a products MDL, falling into the warmth of a soft hay bed one of those rare nights where we trusted enough to take the hospitality of a welcoming town, coming on the wreckage of a Brooks Brothers outside Lavonia still stuffed to the gills with fine poplin shirts between decaying mannequins frozen in time to cruise season pastels, enough costumes for several seasons of scripts. Others, less so: Jonathan, a former trust & estates partner outside Boston, stabbed by an audience member over a flubbed line for a discovery call, his blood soaking the night grass as he mouthed for help, the night our lead wagon went to flames as we caught out in a firestorm, one of many in the new weather of the world, seeing the cracked destruction of Skadden’s wall near the Mississippi, the desiccated bodies of the attorneys on its battlements giving testament to their failed last stand. Mostly, though, we just lived, trudging through the waking moments of each day without hope or purpose, at least beyond the stage. The stage. That crucible of transmission, our nightly opportunity to impart the lessons of the law and those who made it and practiced its art upon a population growing evermore distant from its source. At night, reveling in our imitation craft, for a few hours once more what we once were, we were alive.
(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=4475153&forum_id=2#39785596) |
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Date: March 18th, 2020 12:54 AM Author: Galvanic grizzly spot
"A melody is heard, played upon a lyre. It is small and fine, telling of memoranda and all-nighters and clauses. The curtain rises. Before us is the ASSOCIATE’S office. It is rectangular and tightly confined, appearing to offer little room to move or breathe. In its center is a spartan desk equipped with three monitors and the usual accompaniments of office life. At its back is a small coat closet. Nearer the stage is a row of bookshelves filled with books and paper. The room has a single high window. But no other fixtures are seen. This entire setting is partially transparent with the characters stepping through its walls to move from the office into the adjoining hallway.
[The ASSOCIATE is seated at his desk. The swaying music of a dial-in rises from his desk phone. He taps a pencil thoughtfully against the desk and spins in his chair.]
CALLER 1: Hi, who just joined?
ASSOCIATE: Timothy.
CALLER 1: Can you speak up? You’re breaking up.
ASSOCIATE: Timothy. From Sullivan.
CALLER 2: Mark O’Connor. Jones Day.
CALLER 3: I didn’t know Sullivan would be on the line.
{silence}
CALLER 1: Is everyone still there?
ASSOCIATE: Yes, I’m on--
CALLER 3: We’re all still here.
CALLER 2: Can you speak up? It’s hard--"
She ripped the page from his hand. "What’s the point of all this shit? This is all so … trivial." Edgar met her gaze and replied steadily: 'Far from it. This was the stuff that made our world. If we want the audience to be invested in the work, we have to begin with the appropriate setting.' She prowled down the length of the barn where they had taken residence for the past two nights, sheltering from the fires that had been raking the countryside. "They aren’t going to care." Edgar smiled, 'it’s our job to make them care. A discovery conference didn’t just happen, Johanna. It wasn’t a faucet that you turned on and off. There was a way to it. Now, will you give me back my paper?'
(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=4475153&forum_id=2#39795226) |
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Date: July 10th, 2020 10:03 PM
Author: ,..,..,.,,.,....,....,,,.....,....
rip duck-like sex offender pit tp
o shit it changes every time
we're in Library of Babel territory
(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=4475153&forum_id=2#40583903) |
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