Walter nodded once. “Then let’s not waste time.”
They led him outside into the biting wind.
The crowd that had gathered quickly lost interest as the patrol car pulled away. Just another story swallowed by New York’s endless hunger.
At the precinct, Walter’s fingerprints smudged on the scanner.
The public defender assigned to him barely looked up from his phone. “Bread theft. Okay. Plead guilty, they’ll probably fine you or give community service.”
“I can’t pay fines,” Walter said.
“Then time served,” the lawyer replied, already reaching for the next file. “You’ll be out tomorrow.”
Walter said nothing. He didn’t expect fairness, only finality.
The next morning, Brooklyn Municipal Court buzzed like an overworked hive. Lawyers juggled files, bailiffs barked names, and the judge’s gavel kept time like a tired metronome.
When Walter’s turn came, no one looked up.
“Case number forty-seven-two-ninety-three: State versus Walter Grady,” the clerk droned.
The young prosecutor adjusted his tie and spoke briskly. “Defendant was caught stealing a loaf of bread. Prior petty thefts. No fixed address. The state recommends continued detention until trial.”
