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Magistrates and of course that there would be
more procedures and interviews. "There will be a
few more forms, procedures and such, but this is a
priority," he said, and how lucky was I! Again the
feeling of it being a to-do wafted into my mind.
Especially as Connor was in fact quite jolly at that
time; speaking with a smile and a pacey tone. I
think he deemed that the case would be big,
perhaps an opportunity for him, I guessed;
perhaps even once in a lifetime. He seemed to a
smile a bit more than I would expect, although he
still avoided eye contact, a deadly strike against
him noted — the remnants instilled from cons.
Before he left my cell he gave me a handshake,
just as weak as his initial one, and a pat on my
shoulder that I felt was in an effort to try to build
camaraderie. Before he left, he also said: “I could
use a good coffee, and a bath.” which made me
feel that he was rather unprofessional and would
not have been my first choice. The ineptitude of
him and the whole procedure seemed like
punishment enough, more so as I was not fed, no
Burrito’s, nothing. This was made worse as I had
not even tasted that last slice of pizza. The rest of
that night into the dawn was full of time mostly
spent with the lingering smell of KFC emanating
off my uncleaned arm and my stomach growling.
With a growling stomach and just the
sound of my thoughts, that first night was when
the nightmares first occurred; I was in a room;
four walls, noise from above, not God, as it
sounded like Jazz: a piano playing boogie woogie
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