17 May 2014: Book Bandits

17 May 2014

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It’s great to see so many of you out this morning and good that the weather is getting a bit more hospitable.  Don’t forget to tip your prompt master before you leave.


The prompts are:

  1. I’m just a businessman
  2. History is not a novel
  3. Hey, you can’t park here


Begin Writing
The judge slammed her gavel on the bench twice.  The staccato rapping sealed my fate.  She closed the file and handed it to the bailiff.  “Call the next case.” she said.

The big guy with the uniform clipped handcuffs around my wrists, put his hand on my shoulder and led me out the door at the side of the courtroom.

He said, “Sorry about this Mr. Wilson.  If it means anything, I agree with your argument.”

“That’s the thing, Doug.  It was not just an argument, I’m nothing but a businessman.  Locking me up is not going to stop the trade.  Someone else will just step in and fill the void left when I’m put away.  It’ll be someone meaner and smarter than me too.  I should have known better than to make the mistakes I did but history is not a novel so I didn’t read it.  And, because I didn’t read it I was unaware of the pitfalls and traps.  The next guy’ll know; and your job won’t be so easy.”

“You may be right, Mr. Wilson.  I can’t say”

Doug led me back to the holding cell in the basement of the courthouse and removed my handcuffs before he closed the door.  As the door slammed shut with a solid metallic clunk, he stuck his hand through the bars.  “Best of luck to you in there sir, watch your back.”

“Thanks, Doug.” I said and I shook his hand.

I turned and surveyed the cell.  Maybe 8 foot square with three masonry, or concrete, walls and bars facing onto the corridor.  There was a metal bench bolted to the floor that ran the length of the back wall.  For the time being, I had the place to myself so I lay down on the bench and listened to the sounds of the courthouse around me.

Another deputy was seated at a metal desk at the end of the hall.  I could hear him open a drawer and soon the sounds of a hand held video game could be heard.  Pings, whistles and explosions from the game almost drown out the tapping sounds of his thumbs on the controller.  My eyes closed and I relaxed.

I woke to someone tapping the bottom of my foot with a billy club.  It was the video game deputy.  “Lets go Mr. Wilson,” he said.  “Time to get you on the bus.”
Time is up. Put down your writing implements and step away from the paper.

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