Two weeks in the Melbourne County court:
The capital of Texas is Austin.
The biggest mammal on Earth is the blue whale.
The post impressionist painter known for his depictions of Tahitian life is Gaugin.
The author of the Odyssey is Homer.
Is the security guard sleeping?
The nine letter word for today is germicide.
The nine letter word for yesterday is lubricant.
Did juror number five get a haircut?
13 across is charismatic.
9 down is confunded.
The prosecution is meticulous.
The trial precedure is painstaking.
Here is the thing about pythons:
a python does not inject
its victim with venom.
It simply suffocates it.
Here is the thing about the courthouse:
It is not a house
It is a python.
It is a python with scales of glass.
A python with revolving door teeth,
with metal detectors in its throat.
A python with escalators for intestines,
with drinking fountains and couches
in its stomach,
with rooftop gardens
on its backside,
I think you
get the point I’ve really
extended this metaphor as far as it’ll go.
But did you notice
as you sit
still as a frightened rat
deep within the python,
that numb, lethargic feeling?
You should know, it has not injected
you with venom.
You are simply being suffocated.
The day of the verdict, I am on the Melbourne–>Sydney train.
I am counting omens:
- Cute dogs on platform.
- Lambs who still have their tails
- A flock of red bellied birds.
- Baby alpacas.
Seven omens. And seven is the most powerful magical number, anyone who’s read Harry Potter knows that.
That’s got to be a good sign.