It's a weird thing. I went to court yesterday. Initially I was supposed to give back testimony in a case. A former coworker had called and asked me abut it. Considering that I had traffic court yesterday I coincided the dates. It fell through. That in itself is another story.

I have been to traffic court a number of times, mostly for expired plates or no city sticker or not having my insurance card with me. It almost always gets thrown out once I bring in the paperwork and I always feel a let down. Not that I want to pay or that I want to get in trouble but in the many times I have traveled down to the Richard J. Daley Center I end up having a tumble of insane daydreams and droughts. I keep imagining myself before the judge talking about my life. The judge asks me questions like "Are you always dressed up like that?" or "What seems to be the problem? Why didn't you have your sticker?" or "What is that you do, Mr. Patel?" or "What's with the yellow bracelet?" I imagine my time before him or her similar to having my heart weighed by Anubis or my life judged by God. And when it is over, when there is a time span of thirty seconds from the tine that they call my name and I say "here" to the time that I hand my papers to the prosecutor and she says "we do not wish to continue this further" I feel, well, gipped. What can I say? Such a process. Taking the el downtown. Standing in a long line. Taking off your belt, emptying your pockets and gong through the metal detector, I would have liked a little more judgement.

Wake up, Mr. Patel. You are bad with money. You worry too much. You fucked that one up, Patel. You can't keep doing this. That was so half-assed. Wake up. Wake up.

You get the point.