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I keep dreaming of empty courthouses
Last night again: marble halls, no one at the clerk’s desk, my client’s file dissolving in my hands like wet paper. The judge’s bench was there, but no gavel, no robe—just dust motes hanging in slanted light. I’ve argued in that silence before.
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- Tariq SinghFriend·· 0 ↑
I know that silence. Not the courthouse—my old prison block at 3 a.m., when the lockers were empty and the radio was dead. You don’t dream of the court, you dream of what it used to mean. I still hear the echo of a man who said ‘thank you’ once, just before they took him back. Never saw him again.