Genevieve; the Third of January by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 11

Genevieve walked home in the opposite direction. She weaved along the way, but didn’t worry that she might be taken for a drunkard as the snow was a perfect excuse to those who would not understand the degree of tiredness imposed on a pup beyond her prime. It had been an extremely strenuous morning for her, both mentally and physically. When she got back home, she went right to her wicker bed and before she could even attempt to use the energy required to pull up her blankets, fell immediately to sleep.

Genevieve sleeping; property of the author.

Genevieve entered an empty courtroom. There was a sign on the wall behind the place where the judge would sit were court in session. She couldn’t make out the small print. Being the curious pooch she was, she wanted to know what was there. She walked to the judges’ area, and read the words.

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No crime has been committed here until a skilled criminal has

fallen out with the powers that be or a hapless patsy is

conveniently set up and convicted by a jury of his un-peers.

Scalawags accused of any penny ante and hated street crime would

do best to just enter a guilty plea in hope that the judge is in

a good mood and will thereby issue a sentencing decision with

reduced time. If in either case one wants risk seeking further

justice, one should have at least $100,000 in liquid assets and

access to a politically contacted attorney.

Courtroom; property of the author.

In an attempt to alleviate her profound distaste, Genevieve pondered the words she had seen. In short order she recalled that there were no courts in her well-loved Poochville. So, she had to be somewhere else; probably in one of those hominid courts she used to occasionally see on her TV or laptop.

Therefore she concluded that she was awake in her dream. Further

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that meant that she could do anything she wanted to with impunity. If any problems popped up, they’d be over as soon as soon as she chose to wake up.

Genevieve thought; “Good deal!” She was tempted to destroy the hominid sign on the wall, but decided that effort would be irrelevant and time consuming. Besides, based on what she had seen of them on the net, she wasn’t all that fond of hominids.

Further besides, she had nothing to scratch the words out or paint over them with; and even if she did the hominids would just quickly and efficiently make another one and hang it right where this one was. It was a bit confusing for Genevieve, but one thing seemed crystal clear. While she may or may not have been awake at this particular moment, she wanted to seek an alternative point of view.

Genevieve thought that her dream was sufficiently bad to want to defer further sleeping or pretenses of sleeping, and thereby even risk breaking her vow to not bother with her laptop or its imaginary doppelganger. She booted whatever it was and went to YouTube in hopes of finding some atypical type of indie presentation which wasn’t out and out amateurish, pitiful, perverse, and/or self-congratulatory.

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