High Hopes at the Courthouse

I had received a fine for running a red light. Since I had filed an objection, it escalated to a court hearing. A date was set, and the summons was officially delivered.

True to my German mindset, I tend to show up ridiculously early to every appointment. Better an hour too early than a minute too late—that’s my motto.

So, there I was, sitting on a wooden bench in the hallway, waiting patiently for my case to be called. Across from me sat a guy just a few years older than me. Covered in tattoos and piercings, muscular and tense—one of those guys you’d rather not get on the wrong side of.

He looked nervous. His eyes darted left and right, sizing me up openly while his right leg bounced nonstop. Without any warning, he suddenly blurted out, “You here for drugs too?”

I stared at him, surprised. Then I slapped my thigh and replied, “Damn, man! If I’d known there was stuff available here, I would've brought more cash! I only have twenty bucks on me. Is the weed any good?”