My Day In Court

October 2009 AMDIC

Yeah AMDIC, after my day in court. Everything is going to be marked liked it was originating from that date. Right now, I'm writing to you under a haze of painkillers which is keeping all of the tiny miners in my head from drilling their way out. I Kid you not. Pain like the edge of sanity, but we'll go into that later. Right now, I was saying that this was October 2009...I don't remember the exact date exactly now, like I said, painkillers.

It started off like a toilet trained day when I had all my shit, stacked, racked, clipped and stapled into what I call HOBO ORDER! Neat, clean slick, ready to go. I even find a valise for it, which if you offset it against my faded jean and worn blue work shirt, I would say that I looked pretty damned professional. Now I fucking have no clue what time it is because of not having a time piece for some time now and while being jostled by the train I realize that I didn't print out the outline. I worked on it, and worked on it, and worked on it but never in hard copy. I never printed out the outline that my entire case rested upon. How the fuck could I do that, I ask you. Give me something pivotal and see if it isn't screwed into oblivion....well, no use beating myself over it. I had everything in argument order, so if I took my cues from the evidence being presented, I should be able to muddle my way though it all. So I get to the front of Boerum Place. Once again the sinister looking building, dun colored and imposing. Once again, having been through this before, it is meaningless to me. I go through security which was just as before, and I must have been there asshole early because there was no one else around. Ha ha ha.

Go up to this floor, and then that one through this check-point, which as I spend my time going through them, not just here, I mean at the DMV, certain buildings in New York, all over. They are just giving us this false sense of security. I mean, I'm not saying that I can walk in and set up a Howitzer or something right in the middle of the floor here, but that is what I am talking about [reading this a second time I realize that this is where the pain-killer kicked in like a motherfucker]. I was in and out of these checkpoints until I reached what will be my final waiting room.

Wilst there, I go through my valise once more and what do I find, but the mother- fucking printout of the stupid assed outline. What kink of last minute heart attack shit is that? I'm called up by a woman with a heavy accent mispronouncing my name (Why do they keep on doing this is beyond me. Just to make your life even more miserable?) Now I have to show ID again as to who I am. Here, here, here I is!!!

I'm made to wait, which just gives me more energy to go over my paperwork, outline, photo- copies. I was ready to go in, both guns blazing, knife between my teeth. Then I'm called in by the judge HERself. Well I didn't know it at the time of course, I was just captivated by the woman with the nice ass. She walked into the service desk on the floor, dropped a folder full of paperwork and then walked by, exhausted, at 9:00am in the fucking morning. Blondie, this is going to be a real long day for you if you don't really, really like being in this place.

Blondie with the nice ass introduces herself as Judge as she strolls into chambers. Now 'chambers' looked like a small room, made much smaller than it was with paperwork splashed all up and down the sides of it, all the way back until it reached a single window. In the center of this insanity was a rectangular shaped desk. As the Judge rounded this desk I was introduced to a representative of WECARE already seated, a scary looking, slumped over the desk, kind of melted man. He mumbled back to me. I thank the court, I thank the Judge. I open my valise and the Judge says, "You are in court because you want to be put into the Wellness Program and not the Vocational Program." Yes, that's right ma'am. She turns to the melted man and showed him a computer paper with nonsense on it. He read it: "It says here he was already referred to the Wellness Program." Her eyebrow raised. "When was that?" "10/2", the melted man croaked.

"So it appears that your case has been vacated. You're where you want to be. Case dismissed."

And there it went. No big shootout at the Corral, no grenade being tossed, no nail biting, blood pumping teeth rattling action, just me opening my valise and me closing my Valise. As I walked out wondered what a celebration would be like. It it have a photo of me looking stunned saying: "You made it. At least you showed up!" But Hobos DON'T celebrate anything. Do we?

Now do we? I return to my room, throw all my shit down, weapons heavy and useless from disuse, the clothes follow, heavy like wool. I finalize the deal, slumping into a chair.

It's over.

Hobobob