In a strange land

I didn’t know what I expected. It happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to form a real vision of what the New York attorney might look like. I thought he might be older, but I suspected he wouldn’t be. And he wasn’t. Maybe a couple of years older than me, goateed, good looking, in blue jeans, nice shoes, and a comfortable jacket.

His hands seemed to shake, either from an unusual Southern chill or a bit of nervousness. He was about to do something he’d been waiting a year to do .

He was a stranger here and he knew it. He seemed uncomfortable and I probably shouldn’t blame him for it. He’s come to challenge the structure of southern law and its shadowy past. And he fears that could be dangerous.

He is in debt, behind in his real work, and on a mission that he knows could be sheer folly. But if it is not, he know it could be the beginning of something very just.

I, too, was nervous. While I didn’t have much to lose, I saw in the meeting a chance to do something greater than I am.

This man and his mission have been on my mind–almost exclusively–for the past week.

And I suspect they both will be on my mind for a long time.