I am a particular juror. A man that has an undesirable need for the facts. One who will ask “why?” for everything. One that draws out the strands of truth till they tear by the thread. I think over the facts. Turning them over in my mind, grinding them down into a fine powder to lift the fingerprint of deception. I bring the rays of light providing the glimmering part of people I don't even know. I want to rescue the victims of a possible biased determination of fate. I stand my ground clawing my position into the side of an argument. All of this inside one man. Inside of me. Inside of juror number 6.
Also known as “The Turtle” I live with the slow thought