Gross Negligence

The area surrounding the Orleans Parish Prison courthouse is a gritty sprawl of petty criminals and bail bonds "offices," some more legitimate than the rest. As soon as my Buick flies over the overpass and touches down on Tulane Ave., I feel people looking at me through my windsheild in anticipation, invisible questions on their minds:

"How much power do you have?"

"Are you going to help me, or help keep my son in jail?"

The sun is always blinding there, even when it's overcast, and the first thing I see is the grey marble of the courthouse rising up out of the hovel of Quickie marts and swaying houses, trying its best to look just. I faintly remember two gigantic sculptures of eagles.

Having only been in magistrate court, I don't really know what to make of the whole thing.

All I know is that, if nobody cares enough about you to pay a $50 bond, you can sit in jail for over 60 days on a possession of marijuana charge. Also, police have trouble spelling, and, sometimes, not embellishing on their arrest reports. They also enjoy flinging "probable cause" around.

A curfew on a person subject to house arrest is later if he has a BA in something vs if he's only got a high-school education: profiling barely pretending not to be.

But por favor, don't scoff me off as a gushing liberal. The man is there regulating for a reason (wife-beaters and 17-year-old double murderers for example) he's just not quite man enough for the airs his courthouse puts on.