When in DC you never know what the person on the metro, the vocal patron three tables down at the restaurant, or the other guy in your apartment building is going to say. It could be something like this.
We stuffed our faces with chocolate. Something tells me we could be great friends.
There was a FBI agent right next to me! I don’t suppose you happened to get his number?
I’m trying to figure out when I blacked out. It was after the crook the FBI agent was following hit you on the back of the head.
I make a Wal-Mart suit look good. Now that your ego is in good order, you can run for Congress.
I keep creating a Wikipedia page for myself, but it is always deleted. Does that mean you don’t actually exist?