An Old Dream
The justice building in Four, though the paint is chipped and splattered with seagull droppings, is resplendent in white. It’s early morning, bright and crisp and cold. The sort of morning that once you’re out of bed, there’s no going back to sleep. My parents are certainly wide awake, already engaging in their first round of bickering of the day. I’m only 8 and, it shamed...