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Fenno took a sip of his coffee and checked his e-mail one wintry December morning, the first of several breaks from his half-hearted stab at completing his take-home professional responsibility final. But the first message in his inbox made him gasp so hard he almost spilled his lukewarm-but-free beverage.

Sitting back in his U.S. Airways middle seat, Fenno realized that his Thanksgiving Break had been very strange. Very strange, indeed. He flashed back to Thursday night, remembering himself surrounded by a cloud of chittering relatives. "What was that firm you said you were going to work for again, Fenno?" "What kind of law are you specializing in, Fenno?" And from a particularly obnoxious uncle, "Hey Fenno, looking forward to that bar exam? Heh heh.

[This article has been removed by the Record Editorial Board. Please contact record@law.harvard.edu for more information.]

Fenno exited the Hark, dragging his wheely suitcase behind him. Thank God enough of his on-campus interviews had come through that he had been able to jettison the public interest deadwood and schedule himself with a full slate of callbacks for fly-out week.

Fenno slicked back his hair and adjusted his tie, then glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Damn, he looked good. After several weeks of fervent preparation (or at least preparations as fervent as the average 3L could work up the energy to be), Fenno was ready for OCI.

Fenno reluctantly took the seating chart for her Fed Courts class and glanced at it. To her right, a small cabal of Law Review students sat scrutinizing thick reams of paper and glaring at anyone who tried to sit within eyeshot. To her left, ironically enough, seemed to sit a bastion of the Federalist Society.

Fenno has left the online community for the time being. Check out his column in the print version. Sorry to disappoint.

ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE is scrawled in blood red lettering on the side of the Bank of America kiosk at the corner of Mass. Ave and Wendell Street. Fenno takes out $100 in crisp twenties and, exiting, notices a girl standing on the roof of North Hall, perilously close to the edge.

Fenno was elated. The frustrating weeks on the housing market had finally paid off - Fenno had found the perfect place. This year, Fenno was determined to earn his JD living like a homo sapien. He was going to shed the cave-man stigma, attitude and aroma. The past two years, Fenno had refuted the anti-liberal hypothesis of physical hygiene, had laughed in the face of the right-wing corporate washing machine industry and had even donated two layers of his skin walking barefoot on the NASA-fertilized grass in Harvard Yard.

It was that time of the semester. Finals were just around the corner. Fenno cracked his knuckles and parked himself in front of his laptop. He was going to learn all of Constitutional and Corporate Law in under 2 weeks. Fenno began downloading HLCentral outlines - thousands of pages he never read, condensed for him by more diligent students.

Fenno had always been a huge fan of Halloween. He could still fondly remember eating so many Three Musketeers that he tossed his cookies onto the neighbor's porch. His mother instructed him that he should have politely used his trick-or-treat bag, but he wasn't about to spoil the hard-earned sugary loot that he still intended to polish off before midnight.

Three days ago, its bucket had been more or less kicked, but - buckling under Fenno's deft and determined grip - the tube of toothpaste reluctantly gave up a final pea-sized dollop of paste. It was enough minty freshness to get Fenno to the drugstore without having to skillfully avoid a run-in with somebody she knew, though she would do so anyway.