I arrived at the bus stop, wearing the blue dress shirt that hung upon me once upon a time and now barely buttoned.

The sun was falling into the sooty west.

A small, fit, light-skinned fellow with a great voice and a Black Isrаelite cap stepped up to me, looked up and said, "Sir, are you sure you want people to know you are serving on a jury?"

For emphasis he pointed to my shirt pocket, where my jury number was scrawled on a paper label that said "Juror."

I scratched it and said, "Wow, maybe someone will kill me for wearing this?"

As our bus rolled up and he stepped up too it and nodded meaningfully to the fallen sun just over the skyline, he responded, "Just wait here and find out."

I grinned idiot wide as I stepped on behind him and we made our way through the press of seated and standing bodies...

Conducting the Moral Autopsy 0f a Nation