Court

 The district court in Chesterfield is empty on a Wednesday afternoon. It sees few compelling cases. I went there today for my ticket. I got there early, checked in, and was told to sit on one of the benches in the hall. My officer will find me. 

As I waited in the hall, a dozen people checked in and filled the other benches. A young couple sat on a bench near me. They barely looked old enough to drive, let alone to be in traffic court. I overheard the girl say, some of these people seem sketchy. I glanced around the hallway. Everyone was dressed business casual. Everyone except for me. I was dressed in jeans and a pale turquoise American Fighter teeshirt, sleeve of tattoos clearly visible.

I wasn't expecting to go before the judge; I'd probably have worn the same thing even if I was. My police officer came out from the back and called my name. He recalled our conversation when he gave me the ticket. He asked if I had brought my registration, asked me to sign off on the ticket, and everything was waved. The procedure took less than two minutes and occurred in the hallway.

I took an extra day off over the weekend and detoxed from work and the internet for four days. I am becoming more accepting of not working, especially after spending time away. Work provides an income and a schedule, something I allow to slide on weekends and holidays. I don't know how structured I will be without such a schedule.