One of the first things the lawyers told us was that serving on a jury would be nothing like the way it is on television. I guess they were trying to make us even less excited about having to be there. But I had already postponed the obligation three times, each time thinking that maybe someday I’d be less furious about having to surrender days of my life to the State of New York for nothing in return. That day never came, though my deferred jury summons did. I arrived seething.
Just getting inside the Manhattan courthouse took about an hour, thanks to tedious security checks. Many prospective jurors spent the wait conjuring excuses for why they couldn’t serve. Having used all of mine, I just moped. Inside was an atmosphere of slow decay: dusty marble, unreliable elevators, rust on the radiators. A supposed civic temple, ailing after decades of neglect, into which nearly all came reluctantly — how appropriate it seemed for the United States of the present. I was picked from the pool for about the worst of all cases: a medical-malpractice trial. I knew they didn’t pick murder juries at the civil courthouse, but I still felt slighted somehow. I mourned for my soon-to-be-lost week.
[Tip: How to be selected for a jury.]
But the next day, I met Al, our court officer, in what would turn out to be his natural state: cracking jokes in his booming Queens brogue to anyone who’d listen. Al would be our babysitter, our intermediary between jury and judge and our reliable comic relief. It took him about three minutes to begin “busting balls,” as Al put it, specifically those of one juror, a chipper TV weatherman with Patrick Swayze hair, who was recognized everywhere by everyone over 40. A blizzard forecast for that week gave Al plenty of fodder for ball-busting, which was welcome, considering how much downtime we had. My group — a couple of nurses, a lawyer and a public-relations pro among them — mostly exhibited a cool acceptance of our captivity, settling into newspapers and crosswords and small talk. It was amusing to hear about the versions of the city these strangers inhabited, and if Al was gone and we were bored, at least we had the shared suffering of jury service to whine about.
Al had whispered reverently about the suburban Long Island neighborhood where our judge lived. He seemed impressed by everything about her, and I saw why immediately. She was young for a judge, and attractive, and also terrifying: When the lawyers went too slowly, or said something obviously absurd, she gave them a nuclear eye roll, intending for them to see it. If the lawyers really tested her, she glared at them silently, with wide-open dark eyes that froze them in place. The only warmth she displayed in court was toward us jurors and Al. They seemed to have their own secret language. She could deploy a certain wink, and he knew it meant to crack the window a little more, or lock the door against the constant stream of clueless outsiders strolling in.
Our case was a dispute over a hernia surgery whose details are too numerous (and gory) to recount here. But I soon became engrossed by the daily spectacle of the trial, as the dramatis personae of the courtroom tried to wrestle this years-old dispute toward a resolution. Almost everything that happened was either open conflict or unintended comedy. Twice, one lawyer fell asleep during testimony, prompting the judge to wink at Al, who let in a bit more March air. The other lawyer was corporate slickness personified, with immaculate suits and full-paragraph oratory. He trundled around the courtroom trailing an air of superiority, not requesting answers from witnesses so much as extracting them, then pouring out mock confusion when he found an inconsistency. He played the lead in a drama that I confess to finding terribly entertaining. The sincere pursuit of justice was meeting the absurdity of human endeavor head-on.
I guess it hadn’t occurred to me that a medical-malpractice trial might veer from light comedy to bleak drama and back again. The stakes in court seemed perpetually misaligned to their moment: graphic, dire testimony as cellphones rang and the lawyers squabbled and Al flipped through his New York Post. Seeing that contrast — Americans fumbling around our most important institution — made jury service a revelation. It’s one thing to know, abstractly, how our legal system works and quite another to sit in the rusty conflict-resolution machine itself and understand that it really does fall to rooms like this and people like you to say whether someone died wrongly, and whether someone else should receive millions of dollars because of that. Life is mostly an accumulation of habits, slight turns, chance occurrences, but here we were tasked with making a decision that would instantly and probably irrevocably alter the course of our fellow citizens’ lives.
Our deliberations moved haltingly, as each juror contemplated the impacts — emotional, financial, reputational — to two people, lashed together by a sad story. We sat around the huge wooden table in our jury room and squirmed. This was not like television, just as the lawyers had warned. It was a view of New York, and of other lives, that our usual routines would never afford. It was a glimpse at the true mess of the real, and the chance to ever-so-slightly neaten it up.B:
广东鹰坛心水论【方】【才】【一】【剑】【西】【来】【已】【经】【受】【了】【重】【伤】，【慕】【紫】【苏】【不】【经】【意】【一】【瞥】，【看】【到】【他】【缠】【着】【纱】【布】【的】【手】【臂】，【心】【里】【有】【些】【担】【忧】。 【他】【清】【冷】【削】【瘦】，【风】【采】【灼】【灼】【的】【背】【影】【依】【旧】【让】【人】【看】【了】【很】【有】【安】【全】【感】。 【没】【有】【人】【见】【过】【这】【么】【轻】【的】【剑】【法】，【轻】【描】【淡】【写】【仿】【佛】【剑】【刃】【拂】【过】【碎】【雪】，【斩】【乱】【了】【盛】【开】【的】【红】【梅】，【却】【在】【悄】【无】【声】【息】【间】【如】【长】【虹】【贯】【日】。 【剑】【气】【缥】【缈】，【剑】【光】【凛】【冽】。 【这】【么】【漂】【亮】【优】【雅】【的】
【坐】【在】【一】【旁】【的】【牧】【齐】【峰】【看】【着】【女】【孩】【那】【目】【光】【灼】【灼】【的】【眸】【光】【盯】【着】【他】，【突】【然】【有】【种】【被】【什】【么】【东】【西】【盯】【上】【的】【感】【觉】。 【他】【好】【像】【什】【么】【都】【没】【做】【吧】？【怎】【么】【看】【着】【这】【丫】【头】【好】【像】【很】【激】【动】【的】【样】【子】。 “【之】【前】【一】【直】【听】【师】【父】【说】【过】，【眼】【下】【还】【真】【的】【让】【我】【见】【到】【了】。”【简】【依】【依】【托】【着】【下】【巴】，【慢】【慢】【的】【开】【始】【审】【视】【面】【前】【的】【男】【人】。 【第】【一】【次】【碰】【到】【男】【人】【的】【时】【候】，【她】【也】【用】【异】【瞳】【看】【过】，【当】【时】【只】
【【沈】【文】V：#【图】【片】#【图】【片】】 【文】【文】【最】【棒】：【儿】【砸】，【在】【哪】【儿】【拍】【的】【啊】？【拍】【得】【真】【好】！ 【米】【饭】【加】【菜】【伴】【着】【文】：【老】【公】【拍】【得】【真】【好】，【人】【家】【也】【想】【去】【看】【星】【星】，【你】【好】【久】【带】【人】【家】【去】【看】【看】【嘛】。 【全】【是】【我】【的】V：【楼】【上】【注】【意】【言】【辞】，【不】【要】【光】【喝】【酒】【不】【吃】【菜】。 【我】【喜】【欢】【看】【文】：【楼】【上】【加】【一】，【但】【凡】【吃】【颗】【花】【生】【米】【也】【不】【至】【于】【醉】【成】【这】【样】，【我】【男】【朋】【友】【是】【能】【乱】【叫】【的】【吗】？
【片】【刻】【之】【间】【江】【水】【便】【将】【除】【了】【秋】【劫】【之】【外】【的】【所】【有】【暗】【卫】【杀】【了】【干】【净】。 【江】【中】【仍】【然】【清】【浊】，【却】【不】【染】【一】【点】【雪】【色】【痕】【迹】。 【杀】【心】【太】【重】【境】【界】【不】【稳】，【江】【水】【倒】【也】【顾】【不】【得】【了】，【她】【此】【刻】【气】【血】【逆】【行】，【但】【还】【提】【着】【刀】【向】【秋】【劫】【走】【去】。 【她】【就】【这】【样】【定】【定】【地】【看】【着】【秋】【劫】。 “【江】【姑】【娘】【不】【动】【手】【杀】【我】?” 【江】【水】【虽】【然】【身】【形】【高】【挑】，【却】【也】【只】【是】【相】【比】【之】【寻】【常】【闺】【阁】【女】【子】【而】【言】，【此】
【几】【乎】【没】【有】【任】【何】【考】【虑】，【赤】【水】【肩】【膀】【一】【斜】，【摆】【脱】【轩】【辕】【子】【珩】【的】【大】【掌】，【双】【足】【轻】【点】，【身】【体】【就】【旋】【转】【着】【往】【前】【方】【逃】【去】。 【满】【以】【为】【可】【以】【逃】【过】【一】【劫】，【却】【不】【想】【倏】【地】【那】【只】【大】【手】【一】【把】【握】【住】【她】【的】【右】【脚】【裸】，【猛】【地】【将】【她】【拉】【将】【回】【去】。 【赤】【水】【左】【腿】【往】【其】【蹬】【去】，【几】【乎】【是】【用】【蛮】【力】【挣】【脱】【对】【方】【的】【把】【控】，【跃】【出】【了】【数】【丈】【后】，【才】【转】【身】【与】【轩】【辕】【子】【珩】【对】【峙】【着】。 “【不】【跑】【了】？”【轩】【辕】广东鹰坛心水论【那】【黑】【衣】【女】【子】【飞】【行】【了】【一】【会】【儿】【却】【是】【皱】【着】【眉】【头】【放】【缓】【了】【速】【度】，【一】【脸】【谨】【慎】【的】【盯】【着】【四】【周】。【为】【何】【她】【会】【有】【如】【此】【反】【应】【呢】？【那】【是】【因】【为】【她】【觉】【得】【奇】【怪】，【因】【为】【以】【元】【婴】【修】【士】【的】【飞】【行】【速】【度】，【飞】【这】【么】【会】【儿】【因】【该】【已】【经】【追】【上】【那】【穆】【阳】【春】【了】，【但】【现】【在】【连】【个】【影】【子】【都】【没】【看】【见】，【这】【怎】【能】【不】【让】【她】【起】【疑】？ “【莫】【非】【他】【还】【有】【地】【行】【符】？”【不】【过】【旋】【即】【她】【便】【摇】【了】【摇】【头】，“【不】【可】【能】，【便】【是】【元】
【为】【什】【么】【南】【关】【战】【区】【一】【定】【要】【在】【裂】【隙】【旁】，【开】【辟】【出】【一】【个】【类】【神】【级】【别】【的】【战】【场】？ 【是】【为】【了】【让】【云】【鹤】【武】【圣】【等】【两】【位】，【不】，【是】【三】【位】【类】【神】【级】【强】【者】【去】【送】【死】【吗】？ 【当】【然】【不】【是】！ 【深】【渊】【裂】【隙】，【说】【穿】【了】【不】【过】【就】【是】【连】【接】【两】【界】【的】【一】【个】【通】【道】【而】【已】。【而】【且】，【这】【个】【通】【道】【也】【是】【不】【可】【逆】【的】。 【当】【初】【那】【头】【自】【裂】【隙】【中】【走】【出】【的】【青】【铜】【色】【怪】【物】，【就】【算】【是】【知】【道】【自】【己】【要】【撞】【上】【云】【鹤】【武】【圣】