Now I know why the Twelve Angry Men got angry—they were treated like they had Kwok’s disease or something by the New York court system. . . . Elderly woman just went up front to ask a question. Female behind the desk says, “Get away. Can’t you see I’m busy? We’re not paid to answer your questions. Go sit down.” Intolerable rudeness—everyone around here has the disposition of a molting adder . . . aarrgh … If I get through these two weeks without committing a mild felony of my own it’ll be outright miraculous.
. . . Central Jury Room belongs on a sidespur of the Trans-Siberian Railway. Still, you can read here at least. And talk. . . . But the voir-dire process could drive me to screaming Stockholm syndrome. Asst. DA says, “You write books, Mr. Mano, would you describe each of them, please?” A case of wrongful dogbite and my prose style is being indicted. . . . And these court officers—staring happily into a bleak middle-distance all day long, they must have gristle for brain matter.
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