As Constance entered the municipal building, she took a minute to watch the usual crowd of people waiting in line to pass through security. Many seemed tense, and they often brought with them the cause of their tension. Jurors had their jury-duty forms, contractors had their phones and rolled-up plans, and confused citizens clutched the pieces of paper that were making them so confused. Hardly any joy could be found here.
As a city employee, Constance could use a shorter security line on the side. From there, it was two flights up to the Primary Defenders group, her daily grind. The Primary Defenders were nine attorneys whose offices surrounded a large common space. In that common space were sofas and chairs for meetings and a few desks for administrators and investigators. Down the hall was a second group of public defenders, the Alternate Defenders group. The prosecutors were one flight up.
About half of the people in the Primary Defenders group were already there when Constance arrived. She nodded to a few of them as she walked through the common space to her tiny attorney's office. As she made her way, she looked around and tried to focus on everyone she saw. Not just the names and faces that she knew so well. The people. Real human beings, all trying to live their lives one way or another. She smiled as she observed each of them, picking up on their inner essence and listening to her sense of joy.
There's certainly no joy in my own office. Constance could feel the unhappiness as soon as she stepped inside. The pile of paper on the corner of her desk was her most active cases, people with very little joy. And the pile was as large as ever, dwarfing nearly everything else and seeming comically large, especially in this relatively small office. So many people, trapped in the shallow end of the luck pool. It often depressed her.
Today she fantasized about a magic spell that would make the pile grow shorter. Such a spell would be wonderful to have. And just for fun, she made up a spell-casting chant and sang it in her head a few times. Cheered by the fantasy, she grabbed the top folder and set to work.
"Good morning, counselor." Jack Cummings, a fellow public defender, stood in her doorway. The smoothest public defender in the lot, Jack was tall and handsome and knew how to use his charisma to work a jury. If Constance ever got charged with a crime, she'd definitely want Jack to defend her. They said he could charm the underpants off a jury.