We arrived at the court and my former attorney, the slimy little bastard, was waiting at the doors for me. Michael Fowler was a short, balding, greasy...little man in his late forties with just a bit of a paunch. His suit looked as though he had slept in it and over all did not inspire confidence. He was about to get a rude awakening.He came walking up to us "Alex, I'm so glad to see you weren't hurt. What happened? Give me their names and I'll start on the suits as soon as we finish here. The rain hit rather severely but he stood almost all the time under it while his girlfriend and I went to sit at the corner of a wall, sheltered from the roof of the house that slightly protruded towards the sidewalk.He was my best friend, I spent my childhood with him even though my bigoted parents were disappointed that I had an Arab child as a friend. Now we were adults, both with many years and more experience.Being the only boy he took the reins of our trio, of which I had no objection to. ’ ‘Well maybe I can turn that opinion around.’ ‘Yeah. Maybe you can.’ We made general conversation as the miles churned by and I found out all sorts of things about Joyce. Her favorite color was red, she preferred cats to dogs, she had never driven a car and she didn’t like pork. Except for bacon. She could eat a pound of bacon at a sitting, but couldn’t stand the thought of pork chops, pork loin or sausage. She liked her hair long (and so did I) and would rather go braless than wear one. That. It's fucking diseased. It's like Frankenstein food." It's still food," said Roland diplomatically. "When there's not much of it around we have to be grateful for what we get. Now, if you'll excuse me I've got other things to do."Roland walked through the door at the back of the reception area which, when it was a supermarket in more prosperous times, had been where shelves of goods heaved under the weight of affordable provisions. Now the public space of the abandoned shop was put aside to.
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