The Blind Witness
The Blind Witness The courtroom was warm and smelled of old wood and floor wax. I sat in the back row, third from the aisle, where I always sat. I could not see the prosecutor or the judge or the witness stand, but I could hear everything. I always hear everything. That is my job and my curse. The prosecutor was making his opening statement about a gangland shooting on the docks three weeks...
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