He's My Client, And He's Counting On

I Was A Lawyer For 10 Years, And Several Of My Clients Had The Misfortune, Through No Fault Of My Own, Of Going To Prison. I Visited Them Occasionally.

And They Drank Heavily, Partied With Great Enthusiasm, And Relished The Drug Culture; They Moved In And Out And Slept Around, And This Was Okay Because They Defined Their Own Morality. They Were Fighting For The Mexicans And The Redwoods, Dammit! They Had To Be Good People!

We Cuss Them Because We're Not Good Enough For Them. We Hate Them Because They Wouldn't Look At Us, Couldn't Be Bothered To Give Us An Interview. I Guess There's A Trent & Brent In Every City, In Every Field. I Didn't Make It And I Don't Belong, So I'll Just Go Through Life Hating Them.

Quite Often I Can Be In A Bookshop, Standing Beneath A Great Big Picture Of Myself And Paying For A Book With A Credit Card Clearly Marked John Grisham, Yet No One Recognises Me. I Often Say I'm A Famous Author In A Country Where No One Reads.

We Learned After The First Semester In Law School That It's Best Never To Discuss Exams. If Notes Are Compared Afterwards, You Become Painfully Aware Of Things You Missed.