Dream of: 16 February 1995 "Minor Misdemeanor"
I was in a room in a courthouse, talking with a prosecuting attorney (probably in his late 20s) about a client whom I was representing and who was scheduled to go to trial today. I was holding a piece of paper which showed all the cases scheduled today in this court, and I realized my client was the first one. However, I was uncertain the prosecutor was actually ready to try the case, and I was trying to find out his position.
The case was a minor misdemeanor. My client was a man accused of soliciting a prostitute; however, the offense with which he was charged was different than the usual solicitation case. Actually I had never heard of the law before which he was charged with violating, and I thought it was an unusual case for the prosecutor as well. I thought there was a good chance that the arresting police officer wouldn't even show up, and that the case would be dropped.
I asked the prosecutor if he was going to be ready to try the case today, and he was evasive. He suggested I might want to pass the case to another date, and he pointed out one case on the list that had been passed four times. I knew it was generally to the defendant's advantage to pass a case, but I didn't want to do so in this case, and I told the prosecutor I didn't want to pass it. I thought the prosecutor was having trouble bringing the police officer in, and that if I demanded a trial today, the judge might dismiss the case.
I asked the prosecutor what evidence he had to offer, and he refused to tell me. I thought I probably should have done some discovery work, but the case was of such low importance, I had done little to prepare for it.
Looking at my watch, I saw it was almost 9 a.m., and I suddenly realized I had another case in another court room I needed to rush to. I told the prosecutor I would be back, and I hurried out the door.
Just as I entered a rear door of the other courtroom, I heard someone say that no one else would be allowed in except Steven Collier. I looked out over the people sitting in rows of wooden benches, saw a seat at one end of the front bench, and sat down. Looking up at the judge's bench, I saw a young black-haired woman sitting there. I was surprised, because I had thought I had come into judge Schwille's criminal courtroom, and that he would be on the bench. I finally concluded that judge Schwille must be ill and the woman was filling in for him. The woman looked straight at me, as if she knew me.
Sitting on my right was an attractive, thin, black woman ( probably in her late 20s). She began asking me some questions, and moved closer and closer to me, until I could actually feel her skin touching mine. I enjoyed the feeling, and quickly began wondering whether she wanted to have a relationship with me. I didn't mention to her that I was married, and thought I should keep that a secret. I was unsure whether my being married would make any difference to her.
When she finally moved so close that her cheek was right against mine, I wondered if other people in the courtroom were watching. I also thought about the fact that she was black, and how I had previously believed I couldn't be interested in a black woman. But this woman's face felt so good, I couldn't help but like it.
She whispered to me that she was going to go somewhere (it sounded like Indianapolis) for a few days, and wondered if I would like to go with her. My mind began racing. How could I explain to my wife Carolina that I needed to leave town for a few days? And did I really want to do that? What were the woman's actual intentions? I was sure I would like to go with her, but the doubts were mounting that I actually would go.
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