“Forty-six thousand dollars in therapy,” he muttered. “And a PDF is what brings me down.”
“Tony, it’s two in the morning. I know sleep .” the sopranos cookbook pdf
The file had been sitting on Tony Soprano’s desk for three weeks. A plain manila folder, dog-eared and smudged with gravy, labeled in Carmela’s neat handwriting: “Sopranos Cookbook PDF – FINAL.” “Forty-six thousand dollars in therapy,” he muttered
“That’s it,” Tony roared, pacing the back room of the pork store. “I want every copy deleted. Every hard drive. Every phone. And somebody get me that Russian guy who knows computers.” A plain manila folder, dog-eared and smudged with
Tony took a bite. For one quiet moment—no FBI, no rats, no PDFs—it was almost good.
“No, PDFs. Portable Document Format. Can you, like… track one? If it gets sent around?”
“Try the tiramisu,” she said. “Page 102. It’s the only thing in that file that won’t get us indicted.”