I got a turkey in the mail today. It was an entire turkey, smoked. It came from the smokehouse wizards in New Braunfels, Texas. They are magical with their meats.... Hmmm, that didn't come out right.
I once spent a week in New Braunfels covering a very high-profile murder trial that ended with a life-in-prison sentence. The newspaper I was working for at the time rented out a house in the town for the reporters and photographers covering the case. At the end of the trial we had a party, inviting all of the national media to the little cottage, and the attorneys for both sides. Everyone showed up. I ended up spending the evening talking to the girlfriend of the defense attorney. At one point I think she complimented my bruschetta. Some time later she showed me the tattoo on her leg. We had to roll out of town the next day, passing up on the city's offer to go out on a boat over the weekend for cocktails.
This all happened and I'm not even telling you about how I almost drowned that week or how the other reporter sliced his leg open. Ah, those were the days.
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