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Standard time:Jim Evans (via Romenesko) probably won’t remember me, which is cool. I have magazines to remember him by. They’re sitting at home on a wooden bookshelf, the copies with my name buried way down in the masthead with the other copy editors, to remind me. Evans nailed the Friday night open bar scene: Staffers learned quick-fast to get a bottle of beer and bail. As soon as the bartender was ready, I’d ask for a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and head back downstairs to finish whatever stories were filing late.

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