The bailiff cooly announces the last names of the defendants that are anywhere but the right place at this moment. The new found comrades shortly to fight for justice ( I wish them luck) shuffle their tennis shoes and whisk their poorly kept hair to the side in nervousness. As I continue to observe the classic never changing justice system at work I can't help but be continually impressed by the characters that occupy its hallways. The court secretary approx. 65 is wearing a light blue dress that her mother wore before her. As she walks by she lowers her glasses to shoot a scowl at the junky bitch sitting on the floor on her cell phone. I am glad.

This place is eerily quiet, its somewhat disgusting. Not without noise, but without life. Half its occupants sit with their elbows on their thighs, heads towards the floor. The others speak of mindless things seemingly oblivious to their surroundings. All the meanwhile justice is being systematically dished out without so much as a blink of an eye. Except for the occasional wince to an unsuspecting defendant who can probably for the first time say without lying "this is the worst day of my life".

The longer I live I notice more and more coincidences. Perhaps I am more aware or maybe things are coming together, hopefully for the best.

The lady meeting the public attorney blew a .27 for her first dui, good luck alcy.

The Hispanic families clench their children with hope that they won't drag them down the same path as they.

Some men look to the heavens some men can not.

Some toss and turn in agony of what may come.

All the while justice is served, ice cold.

" A trial is not about truth, its about the appearance of the truth" -my public defender