Regulations
KJ Hannah Greenberg







Every minute or so I look out the window. My attorney’s taking her time.

The sort of behavior, for which I’m being charged, has seeped across our nation’s demarcations. In other words, police reports and other official documents (journalists’ offerings being a tad too “selective” to count) reveal that this nonsense is as much a byproduct of the left as it is of the right. Simply, we citizens have again failed, horrifically, to get along with each other.

An officer comes in with a stack of forms to complete in triplicate. It’s against the rules, but he offers me a coffee to go along with my pen. I wonder if he recognizes me without my hairpiece and makeup. Also, I wonder if he can read the micromovements that reveal me to be a parvenu.

That sentinel, too, regards the window. Unlike me, he is looking through a gun’s reticle. Grimly, he asks when my lawyer is due.

Whereas other idealized societies have risen and fallen, our great nation continues to exist in its many dimensions of grandeur because of its insurgents. We rebels insure that ideas get circulated, that our country steers clear of stagnation.

Without a knock or whisper, my legal representative enters my holding cell.

The guard’s suddenly petulant. He looks at my solicitor through his crosshairs.

I nod.

He fires.

We canonized people’s freedom has long been conditional on their luring dangerous others to law enforcers. It’s our public service.




First published: November 2017
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