A tall, lean man in faded jeans, a well-worn white button-down shirt, a loose tan suede jacket and a pair of steel-toed Wolverines that had seen better days appears in the Sorting Room. He looks around and runs a hand through his scruffy blond hair in puzzlement, and then his blue eyes fall upon the table of application forms. He ambles over, picks
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"Pepper. Jack. Cheeseburgers. They are godly. You bite into one, and angels sing. Good choice."
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