At this point, I couldn’t say no. We walked up this hill that felt like a mountain. Well actually, most hills feel like mountains at 3 in the mornin..., on a Saturday night, and your 3 sheets to the wind. Anyway, we get to her apartment, sit on the couch, and just started talking. We talked for what must’ve been about an hour. She then tells me that she’s feeling sleepy, so I’m like then let’s crash. She gets up, and I begin to sprawl out on the couch. ‘What are you doing?!?’ she asked me. ‘Umm?. "Thom-as," she said, sounding out each syllable and exaggerating it. "Are you just Thom-as?" she asked, giggling. "I am Thomas Sanderson." Hello Thomas the Sanderson." No, no, Sanderson is my surname, not an epithet," he explained. "So, Thomas Sanderson who bears no epithet, where are you from?" she asked."My house is back up there," he said, pointing vaguely in the general direction of where he came from. "Smyrna Beach," he mumbled. He still couldn't believe that was talking to an actual. More

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