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The socks you wear depend on the sort of law you're embarkin...
Useless fragrant community account

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Date: February 5th, 2020 12:19 AM
Author: Useless fragrant community account

The socks you wear depend on the sort of law you're embarking on. Last Thursday, I took a deposition in a seedy part of town--New Bedlam, just off the Fifth, where the old dock district was before they put in project housing. Big mass tort case. For that job, I came armored up and didn't wear socks. Why? Because I wanted to feel connected to my boots if I needed to turn tail and run. I run sockless when I train, the heat of my movement its own little sun even in the drear of winter, my legs swishing glimmers through the fog of the city, my body a honed knife slicing down into soft parliament cheese, the 77th & Main coffee shop the porcelain Crate & Barrel platter plate destination of my knifing movement to rest and reflect over a quadruple oat milk latte on another day of tough miles pounded out. Tomorrow? I wear cashmere. Meeting with DuKenis and his team to try to close the deal on the reverse merger, $150m net fees, want to feel that excellence of their presence as we stare across each other over the gaping abyss of the 76th floor conference room table, all darting eyes and clicking pens and single traces of sweat other than my own mien, cool and composed from the training, unflustered in the intentionally elevated heat of the conference room courtesy of a surreptitious adjustment by my go-to girl Marcy, rising second year, superb with legal research, better with points and authorities, unsurpassed in room setting and binder preparation, a supernova start to a legal career there. On the weekend? The socks of my grandfather's grandfather. Mothbitten and still salt licked from the Irish sea air near the cabin lain his weary bones from a day's toil in uncompromising field, tough sod trodden down by generational memories of failures' failures heaping one atop the other in that old land we called home, now transmogrified to bourgeois talismen of authentic home country yearning, falsely signaling some implied greater degree of depth to my thin soul versus my other mindlessly cogged brethren working this great machine of commerce we call the law.