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From an emailer:
Last night my buddy got so drunk down town that he ended up 5 miles from the bar we were at. He had no idea where he was and asked me to pick him up. When I told him to send me his location he clearly didn’t understand.
Our emailer, Logan, hit Memphis’ Beale Street over the weekend with a few of his buddies. Braxton was among them. Braxton was double fisting at a bar called Tin Roof. Braxton got drunk. At one point during the night, Braxton got separated from the group. But Braxton needed a ride home later on, so he hit up Logan to see if he could scoop him. Logan, being a good friend, agreed and asked Braxton to send him his location.
Braxton sent him his location.
Did he nail it or did he nail it? This motherfucker sent him a picture of his exact location, about 15 square feet of it, duck boots in frame. Hall of Fame drunk text, Braxton. Really impressive.
I’m happy to report that Logan and crew eventually found Braxton and drove him safely home, but only after Braxton went on an early morning excursion that ended with him being dropped off on the side of the road by “two black women” who wanted $40 to take him home. Braxton didn’t pay up, though, so they threw him out..
h/t Logan Badgley