Norman Arkawy

“ Stan's laugh was a derisive bray. "She talks just like a first timer, doesn't she?" The man in front of them nodded knowingly, again sharing with Stan the common bond of experience.
"The next thing you know," Stan jeered kiddingly, "she'll be preaching to us like one of those crackpot reformers."
The revulsion that Julie felt must have been clearly evident now. Stan smiled fondly and put his arm around her shoulder. "I'm only kidding, honey," he half-apologized.
"What's so wrong about the reformers?" Julie demanded, angrily shrugging away his arm. "Why shouldn't men be given another chance? ”

“ The attendant smiled at her gently. "Don't ever be a third-timer." He released her arm and hurried away down the street.
Julie puzzled over his parting remark as she went out into the foul smelling night and walked away from the courthouse. Suddenly, the street before her dimmed as the lights on the huge marquee blinked out. She turned and looked back at the entrance of the court, now dark and deserted. And then she understood.
She remembered the moon-faced man's observation about the scarcity of third-timers. ”

“ They laughed when the magistrate said his fountain pen had run out of ink and, looking into the detention pen, inquired, "Would any of you blue bloods care to make a donation?"
They laughed when a court attendant read a complaint which charged that the defendant, a small skinny man, had attacked the arresting officer, and that the officer (six-three, two hundred and ten pounds) had used reasonable force in defending himself. The man's broken arm was in a sling and bandages covered twelve stitches in his scalp. ”

“ It was a bleak, gray, stone-faced building whose ornate sculptured trim was weather worn and darkened with age. Once an aspiration to architectural beauty, it was pathetically ugly, a melancholy reminder of a bygone and possibly better era. ”

“ The old man had dropped his hat and an attendant had kicked it away from him. The white haired castoff shuffled across the room to retrieve it.
"I missed something!" Stan said, testily. He turned to his neighbor and was hurriedly filled in on what had happened.
"Well, I'm leaving!" Julie said. She got up and edged her way out to the aisle. Stan made no protest. He was concentrating on the performance up front.
Julie hurried up the aisle and pushed through the pack of people standing in the back of the room. She found the usher at the door. "I'd like to leave," she told the girl. ”

“ She clenched her teeth and prayed that Stan would hurry up.
Soon the flow of people stopped. Still no Stan. Julie waited.
Some twenty minutes later, an attendant came out of the courtroom. He went past Julie, then paused at the door, turned and came over to her. "Waiting for someone, miss?"
"Yes. My friend. They seem to have misplaced his ID card."
The attendant smiled and shook his head. "You might as well go on home, miss. If he's still in there, he won't be coming out for some time." ”

“ Up here," he explained, showing her the appropriate place, "you fill in the name of the presiding magistrate. And here," he continued, "you put in the date. It makes a nice souvenir. If you fill it out right, you can look at it six months from now and remember all the fun, just as if it were happening all over again."
"Fun?" Julie's voice cracked.
"Sure!" Stan said with enthusiasm. "It's a terrific show! Everyone has a good time. Well, anyhow ..." and he chuckled, "everyone but the bums!" He laughed.
A man in the row in front of them turned around and looked at Julie. ”