I started this week as a juror on what seemed a fairly mundane case.
The prosecution’s case was very carefully put together. He knew his business. The defense had nothing. There was no reasonable doubt. There was no doubt at all. The verdict was inevitable, and even with our diverse jury, quick and unanimous.
And then the other shoe dropped.
The case was far more than it seemed, as we suspected from the extreme care the prosecution had taken with the case, and we discovered for certain during the sentencing phase.
I ended the week with the images of an innocent bystander murdered…caught in a shootout…in full color/motion and from every angle…burned into my head.
It shook me up far more than I can explain.
Yeah. The jaded, world traveling, burly, biker dude.
And I can’t find the damned erase button.
To the defendant…whom we put away for 85 years…may God have mercy on your soul…if you even have one…because surely I have none for you.
And damn you for making me face that fact.
Ride. I think I need to ride.
But I need to vomit first.
And I really, really need that damned erase button.