Whenever possible I try to keep a level of professional friendliness towards the various attorneys with whom I share jail time at the office. One of the more lucky guys happens to have an office directly behind my special little corner of hell. As a general rule, he likes to leave his door open and the Venetian blinds pulled up; thus affording me the occasional glimpse of the sky by way of the rear-view mirror on my desk. On the days when he is absent from the building due to a game of golf a court appearance, his door remains closed. Heaven forbid I get off my lazy arse and walk that fifteen feet to open the door. I was busting his chops about something or other last week — I think for jumping the queue ahead of me at the pot-luck lunch — and as we were all winding down from our hearty corporate laughter . . .

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