wet log

His eyes are the wrong colour. I interrupted myself, my long discourse on the futility of my legal situation resulting from his incompetence but my unwillingness to either a) admit defeat or b) sue him for malpractice, to tell him “You look like shit.” He nodded, took it, didn’t disagree.

I sat down and just barely checked myself; I had been about to drop my head in my hands. Instead I folded them in my lap and looked at him.

A lawyer without fire is a wet log. I would rather do business with a lawyer that hated me – I would have more chance at success. A lawyer gazing at me with a heartbroken sort of resign will not, cannot, accomplish anything.


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