In Which I Doubt My Sanity

In court yesterday, I had an oddly charming, probably sociopathic client. He swaggered in dressed like a cowboy, sneering.

"How are you?" I asked.

Big grin. "Just another day in paradise," he said, rocking back in his chair and, I am pretty sure, just refraining from spitting.

The judge inquired as to why he had fulfilled none of the requirements of his sentence in our court.

"I was in prison," he said.

"Oh," said the judge. "And how was that?"

Sneer. "You get used to it."

"Well," said the judge. "We're going to have you do work crew."

"Huh," said my client. "Last time, they said I couldn't do that. Cause of the--"

"The violent kidnapping charge?" the judge asked.

"Right," said my client.

"We've had a change of heart. My probation officer's a damned big guy."

The probation officer is a damned big guy, but I'm not sure the question of probation should be reduced to the determination of who would win a fight. Nonetheless.

Out swaggered my client.

For about two seconds, I thought, "Man. I'd sorta like to go drinking with that guy."

Then I thought, probably federal prison would not be worth it.