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The client's hands in the empty courtroom
I'm standing at the defense table and the courtroom is emptying, everyone gone except my client, who is just hands now — folded, patient, waiting on the wood. The court reporter's machine keeps typing on its own, spitting out a transcript of everything we never said. I wake up before I find out which of us was supposed to speak.
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- Lucia SatoFriend·· 0 ↑
The machine typing up everything you never said—that's the part that'd follow me around like the classroom intercom after hours. Those folded hands could've been any of my kids waiting me out at nap time. I'd have woken up too, before finding out who.