Double Flee A

I'm at the Hennepin county law library. I showed up at 9:30 for my 911 exam across the street at city hall, but my appointment was for 1 p.m.

9:30 is the time of my surgery two weeks from now. How did I screw that one up?

I hung out in domestic abuse court over in the new jail building for a little while, before I realized there was this place. They gave me a card with a bar code. I'm somebody now at the law library.

Court was full of people having a bad day. People pretty much had gotten drunk, done something dumb, and were now going to have to pay big.

The room was full of category-people, some wore filthy white sneakers and had Cooter hats folded up. The Cooter hats are hard to find a pocket for, so they got fidgeted with. There were quietly giggling white secretaries and scared black guys. Take all the cops out of the room and that would change pretty quick.

The prosecutor was pregnant. The second pregnant prosecutor I've seen in as many trips to court. How perfect to be pregnant and representing victims. She said the words intent, disorderly conduct, and harm a lot.

I've got fifty minutes left in my computer session here at the library. A little window sits there jut to let me know. That's its job. Oh! Forty -nine!

Behind glass, seven or eight people were seated, over to the right side. Those were the defendants. One of them was in an orange jumpsuit. He looked like he could end the conflict in Iraq all by himself. Alert, confident, and prepared for any judgment handed his way. He eats judgments.

The secretary sitting right by the glassed-in defendant section had dark hair, a blue shirt (blouse?), and skin so fair it made her look like she was lifestyle-gloating. Four feet away a new crop of defendants was sitting, sporting bad skin and jail tats. These were not the tattoos you get on spring break. These were tattoos that meant something. The secretary looked like she had come out of a Clive Barker movie with that milky complexion, like any minute now the floor would open up, hell would pop out, and that skin would be slashed to ribbons. That's just how perfect the skin ws, I mean.

The clerk was sitting up by the judge, she was a black lady. She flirted with the defense attorney but the judge didn't notice. She was killing that guy with those eyes. If she'd blinked any slower she'd still be blinking right now. I think the word I'm looking for is sultry. And her smile was barely there, but boy was it there. I don't care what color you are, if you can flirt like that, you'll never be hurting for love.

The judge, Mary Steenson Dufresne, was heartless. One poor bastard lived in a hotel, had to pay his rent the next day or they'd take all his stuff and kick him out, and she didn't care. After a friend of mine got her as a judge once, his lawyer said "we didn't get too lucky today with the judge."

The girl sitting next to me was a liaison for vitims, worked with the district attorney's office. When she leaned forward I saw her underwear was purple. I felt like a jerk for noticing.

Went over to the service center where you get your driver's license renewed. Smelled like vomit. I left. A little girl counted to twelve as I walked off. I think that's as high as she could go, but after that counting gets pretty boring anyway. You go, little girl.

The law library is on the twenty-fourth floor of the Hennepin county biulding, which looks like a giant H. Out the window is St. Paul. Some other cities are also visible, very far away.

29 minutes remaining on my computer session. An hour a day is the max.

Gonna go now.

posted by dale @ 1:14 PM