The day of Leon’s trial arrived.
 As another passenger got off the crowded subway, Nate and Quentin insisted Mrs. Woods take the free seat. They continued to hold on to their straps as, one seat ahead, a vagrant vomited, while beside them, a young woman hit her daughter.
“What a world,” Nate said.
Quentin looked at them with bemused indifference and shrugged. “Merely further victims of late monopoly capitalism. Just like you and Mrs. Woods.”
“Oh?” said Nate, unconvinced.
The Court, an imposing room of marble, draped in patriotic homilies
“All rise!” said the bailiff.
The Judge, short, pasty and pudgy
“Be seated,” he said, with a thin, quavering voice.
Leon, stooped, shrunken, eyes dead
“We’re...

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