"Did you hear about Paul? He's a 304. I'm a 303, but Paul's a 304!"This is said in hushed, almost reverential tones. Whispering in the cloisters. Except we're not in a cloister. We're not surrounded by medieval stonework and icons. We're in a small office perched above a convenience store in Brighton.
It is like this every day. I come into work, I sit down and open Gmail, and the chat starts. The Destiny chat. Paul is a 304! Tom is short on Strange Coins. Wes has been cheesing Crota. It seemed to happen overnight, and now here it is. It's like everyone in my office has joined a fancy new religion except me. Imagine you came back from holiday and everyone's suddenly banging on about Xenu.
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