Tuesday night at Eagle Street’s Pig ‘n’ Whistle, amongst the blur of corporate suits unleashing their self-proclaimed functioning alcoholism on a selection of craft beers, junior criminal lawyer Jasper Knotts (27) was deep in thought.
Jasper was busy performing the complicated mental mathematical calculations as to whether another schooey of Gold would financially preclude him from filling up his 2004 Honda Civic with enough E10 to make it out to Cleveland courthouse tomorrow, where he would invariably cop a spray from the magistrate as to why his client had neglected to show up to his sentence for the third time in a row.
Our reporter caught up with Jasper in the smoker's area, as his nicotine-stained fingers darted back from the ashtray, surreptitiously depositing several dumpers into his battered empty pouch of JPS blue.
“Yeah mate, it’s like this,” Jasper began, wiping his hands on his $50 K-Mart suit, “I love what I do. Now sure, the big corporate lawyers have their fat pay checks, fancy buildings and the prospect of sexy ‘Suits’ cosplayed dates with attractive rich people every Friday night…” Jasper trailed off, remembering an Instagram reel posted last night by two of his corporate lawyer mates on a junket to the Almalfi Coast with a group of supermodels. It made him conscious that the closest he’d gotten to getting laid in the last six months was when a 54-year-old offered a backrub in lieu of his fee, “but nothing beats fighting for justice!”
Our reporter nodded encouragingly, handing Jasper the first tailored cigarette he had enjoyed in a year.
“Cheers mate. So sure, my clients are an echo chamber of Shaggy's hit song ‘wasn't me’ who invariably never pay the fees anyway, but someone has gotta stand up for the little guy!” Jasper paused for a moment, wondering if his sermon would be recognised by the punters around him for the Atticus Finch-level soliloquy he desperately hoped it was.
Our reporter coughed politely.
“Oh right. So yeah, last time I asked my boss for a bonus he asked me if I believe in unicorns too. So whatever if my girlfriend left me for a fast food manager because he’s more ‘financially secure’? Who cares if my days are spent driving to every far-flung maggies court in town to get blasted by people who treat me like I orchestrated the damn Hindenburg disaster - at the end of the day its… its…”
“About justice?” Our reporter offered helpfully.
“Yeah mate… Oi, you reckon I could still go for a clerkship at one of the big six?”
Author: Xavier Winchester (pseudonym) Editor: Dana Heriot