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A Whole Lot of Nothing

Things are really turning upside down here: the Brits have started playing euchre, and I had a pleasant chat with Judge Amy St. Eve. After leaving my notebook in court reporter Joe Rickhoff’s office earlier in the day, I set off to retrieve it, eventually finding Rickhoff at his appointed spot below the bench in Room 1241. I ventured forward, waving to catch his eye, and in the next moment was aware of a woman in a black robe waving back. I froze. “C’mon in,” said St. Eve, her vowels opening like barn doors. “What’s going on out there?” she asked. I murmured something about a lot of waiting. She kept a happily quizzical look on her face. “Lots of gin rummy,” I offered. “Gin rummy! Don’t tell Joe Rickhoff that. He’ll be out there playing for an hour.” We carried on like regular pals and I backed out feeling rather at the centre of things.

Meantime, James Bone has figured out that were a reporter to write anticipatory pieces on each of the possible permutations of guilty, not guilty or hung, that would mean authoring “three to the 13th power” stories. “That’s a lot of stories,” says Bone. Whether he’s right or not is beside the point. The fact is, more than 50 reporters trapped together for the better part of two weeks is nuts. And the jury left half an hour early, which means this fine hell continues for another day.

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