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Head of The Table More than a pub
During the 80s do you know how such businesses were conducted, I mean the illegal banned businesses? Well, they covered it up with a fake business and it paid off because they were untraceable, a normal bakery you smile, suspect nothing, the hot aroma of freshly baked breads, the dinging of ovens as the muffins are brought out all oily and irresistible, clean business but behind those walls was a multimillion drug making business. So for the cops to catch up, they thought like how they did, instead of meeting up at the police station where they advertised themselves in blue uniform as corrupt, fat law enforcers, branding the red alert when they were within hearing. Tailoring, pubs, lodges, all these began springing up with anonymous owners under their names, new beginnings, fresh waitresses and waiters, and the crooks nearby were die hard alcoholics, so they tangled, mingled, blabbered everything not to be spoken of assuming they are desperate people in work overalls desperate to ear
Head of The Table Forgetfulness or murder
Rosewood furnished but with a more strengthened oak embodiment and more equalizing mahogany to bring textile elasticity, at around 11 inches, a chest high shelf with adequate shelving lockers, an additional microphone it’s black cords out of man’s path as it strings down to the mixer and amplifier down the adjacent court clerk’s station. The judge’s bench spacious for flexible and easy movement with an even more comfortable movable armchair, in built panel video for necessary electronic evidence and a green covered book sized notebook on the judge’s table. Adjacently, at a risen level lower from the judge’s bench, opposite from the witnesses stand, some feet from the reporters bench, around 4 to 7 inch tables, with feet high shelves, additional pigeon holes, was the court clerk’s station. Hosting the optional mixer and amplifier, it also housed several electronic equipment including the obvious desktop computer and control console, a black covered bible was in sight used for it’s day
Head of The Table Backfire
What if he did forget? But what if he was murdered? No he forgot, no he was murdered, these mind tormenting disputes wrangled trying to get a favor amongst the jury. So amongst them was an argumentative dispute on the matter of what truly happened to the deceased Mr. Peter, and worse was the war inside them as this too was sparking a revolt, murder or forgetfulness, it is one not both, the voices argued. As the spectators too brewed within their midst, the judge scribbled some notes as he also was seen torn between the two convincing theories so only one way to find out. “Mr. Tim please present more evidence to the jury and to the court to acclaim to the terms of your allegations to the defendant. Because it seems both are possible so if you have witnesses too, please may they step in the witness dock.” The judge retorted steadily as he glared at the attorney addressed who was caught slightly in shock because he wasn’t expecting such a response. But now that he has been given the
Head of The Table The impossible
Odds doubled and worse, they were against him not with him, the first chance he was barely capable to keep up, it was the jury’s mercy and the judge’s side eye, that he was given the slight vacuum to refresh his allegations and make it more of his favor but instead…he made things worse much worse. The jury this time were convinced, the defendant was innocent, the judge though was doubtful of this he was certain the plaintiff’s attorney had evidence that just wasn’t convincing, remembering it was manipulated to be used against him so this time they had to go by the book. After five minutes of low tone discussion and the judge arranging his documents passed by the clerk, he banged the gauntlet twice till the spurt was silent and clearing his throat he raised his head and addressing the seated plaintiff and his attorney he opened up the court response.“Mr. Tim, it seems that perhaps the witnesses called upon are people who are unsure of themselves and are looking to get back to the de
Head of The Table Three stones
Tensed, just one week, he nearly lost it all, he was this close, this close! So get your shit together or you might as well kiss this case good bye and watch the court nail you instead of the tyrant. Pondering, his cigar was fading with every puff as it gave an ember glow, ashes of what it used to be, brown with a more gold touch from a far, the suit reconciled fashionably with his cigar’s texture and furnished outline, the black curved raised chair with grey like cushioned but cushions. Despite being a work day, he was not in the mood of going by the book, so he did what he does when his under pressure, tension, or is fixed under someone’s grip, which in his case he was under both so he had every right to do as he pleased to relieve this overwhelming mental baggage. He smoked one cigar till it was in ashes, the scent of smoke and it’s density filled the room, but still no idea, no thoughts, no tips on just how he could flip this sinking ship to his favor. So the inspector, Mr. Zod,
Head of The Table All or nothing
One died another grew in place, repeatedly day in and out, as the dawns and dusks elapsed so did the judgement of the case court near to see the length determination crosses to, to make his point in bold and seal the case having buried the defendant in his coffin. Just whose will power outgrows the other, if the defendant Goliath enough to stomp his plaintiff like a bug and finish it of with ease or will the giant slayer the plaintiff muscle his way and out wit the enemy in sight and bring death in a blistering swift maneuver. No more guessing, sure the suspense and tension is killing all in court but it’s time we got things by the book, the day finally dawned, July 20th, the day of reckoning. Quarter to 10, more accurately, 9:45 am, there and then the public entrance bust open flooding in the speculators of the awaited day for the case at hand in court. As press workers set their cameras at the edges of the far end of the walls of the court where they couldn’t interrupt the movement
Head of The Table Article 42B
From his father, to the father of his father and the father to the father of his father…since time memorial the curse was handed down, imprinted in their blood and from the generation to the next it was passed. Living in mud huts, some the more grassed thatched huts handed down from millennials, accustomed to the notion set from conception that this was their life this was what it will ever be, imprisoned in the heavy shackles of poverty, a curse inevitable to all of their kin. Life revolving around taking care of cattle, farming wild fruits and natural edible vegetables, marriage, circumcision, all summarize under one roof, tradition it was what they had that truly belonged to them. Tradition was their compass, their map, the line that defines actions as good or bad, the judgement to all those who defied the customs and which spoke of the consequences. Yet amidst this enriched traditional inhabitance was a man whose luck outshone the others in the community, lucky to be baptized in
Head of The Table Unpredictable fate
Teal blue, with a shady sky blue texture from a far it was more of teal than sky, nailed here his most prized possession which he held dear more than his family, to the far left nearing the edge, framed and an additional glass protector, his degree, bachelor of laws, visible signature from the minister of London to ascertain that he, holder of the degree, had completed his educational time frame and passed and a graduate of the University of Stamford. But this was only the beginning of his triumphant journey in the field of law, unsatisfied and eager to be more outstanding, he moved on to Manchester School of Law, where he proved yet again after four years that he was the stronger of the two. A hand distance from the first framed degree, another hang, the one from the school of law where he graduated and termed as the best lawyers in the law firm. Besides his fiery urge to climb the impossible steep mountains of law, he was into art, the more abstract kind of art to be precise. Some