In college, Molly and I went through a brief phase when we would get high and watch Court TV. “Guilty!” she would say, banging an imaginary gavel. She always made up her mind early, a few minutes in. Plaintiff. Defendant. Both, usually. “You can see it. You can hear it in their voice.” She was so sure. I would ask, “Yeah, but do they believe they’re guilty? Do they know they did something wrong?” She wouldn’t miss a beat. “Oh, they know,” she would say. “They know.” It’s not lost on me, why this memory is surfacing now. I swat it away.
