We know for sure it begins with a burrito. A greasy, cheesy burrito. From a trolly cart on a cold March morning in New York City. That’s as poetic as I can make it. For what it's worth it was a strange coincidence we ever met at all. It’s true that we were on the same chess-club-sorta team in law school (like mock trial but more writing and less fun). But it’s a team of like thirty and Tim barely even showed up for meetings, let alone compete. But as fate would have it, we somehow ended up partners in a competition. I was hot to trot to participate in a bankruptcy one because I love being bored. To compete, you're placed with a partner, another team and a coach. Tim was not my teammate. He was not anyone else's teammate, and he certainly was not the coach. But then my partner conflicts out last minute. I get a partner from the other team, the coach rotates. Great. But then it somehow happens again, unbeknownst to me. So on and so forth like six degrees of Kevin Bacon until the board has to get involved and call on the one guy everyone knows is free—enter Tim, enthusiastic as ever. And despite our best efforts, we were charmed, amid the romantic backdrop of the federal bankruptcy code. We played far too many intense games of Hangman when we were meant to sit silently, took great pleasure in casting sassy aspersions on our competitors, teammates, and each other, and, of course, shared a burrito or two. But I suppose the real thing that ties us together is a sharp laugh--at each other, at everything else. But also video games. And cats. And a mutual desire to be just far enough from everyone and everything that getting together like this is all the sweeter. If you’re reading this, we miss you, and want to see you. Also something ridiculous is bound to happen. We hope to see you soon.