Typical Day
The alarm rings with an epic anthem that leaks into Justin Law's dreams just as he's about to fight (in the name of all that is good) alongside the Justice League. His cat jumps on his face and he's reminded, yet again, that he is not that type of justice.
The drive to work is a mental game. Justin sips his coffee, listens to the latest John Grisham audio book, and reminds himself that he loves his job. He just keep repeating that...I love my job. I love my job. I...need more coffee.
As he stumbles into the back room of the courthouse and slips into his beloved robe (black and loosely forgiving), he thinks back to the days when he was on the other side of the door. Justin would anxiously await someone dressed like him to come out so he could strut his stuff in a freshly pressed suit and fight for a fair verdict. Sometimes he misses those days.
"All rise for the honorable Justin Law."
That never gets old.
Justin takes his seat and wraps his hand around his recently polished gavel (when there's one major tool to your trade, it better be polished). The first case of the day is so classic it's almost painful. In front of Justin stands a man who ran a red light, but swears he was in a rush to get his pregnant wife to the hospital.
The wife is sitting in the courtroom, looking nervous and a little too toned for a new mother. Justin reviews the tape, and in fact, sees that she looks perfectly round and ready to burst in the passenger seat...almost too round...and why is she laughing?
As he pauses the video to get a closer look, he notices the bottom of her shirt is ever-so-slightly lifted and there appears to be bright red and blue stripes where, typically, one would find skin. Justin also notices two tickets on her lap...tickets for a concert that was happening at the very time the violation occurred. Nice try, Sid and Nancy.
"Sir, may I ask if your baby loves the beach?"
"Uh, well, it's little so we haven't..."
"Or being bounced around in the air by a crowd of overzealous fans?"
"What the..."
Justin gives a knowing glance as the defendant's wife whispers something in his ear. He sighs in defeat and takes out his checkbook.
"Fine, fine. What do I owe you?"
As the defendant stomps off, muttering to his wife about how she was pre-law back in the day and should have caught their mistake, Justin takes a five-minute break to finish his morning cup of coffee and celebrates his little victory.
He's officiating a wedding tonight. Images of free champagne and cake begin to dance in Justin's head just as he's called back in. He's about to hear why a man who drunkenly urinated on the steps of the capitol building believes he should be covered by his right to freedom of expression.