I’m in court with Ron Silliman. He’s cross-examining me.
“Where were you, Rauan M. Klassnik,” on March, 2nd 2003, he asks-- winking at me, and then, again and again, all around the room.
“I have no idea,” I answer. “I’m sorry but I don’t have one of those calendar memories.”
The judge gives me a bad look.
“Then I’ll give you an easier one,” Silliman says. “A slow-pitch softball. A watermelon.”
I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. Silliman pauses for effect and then launches out again:
“Where were you on March 2nd, 1932,”
“Ha!” I exclaim right away. “I wasn’t even born then.”
Ron jumps right back at me: “It is well known, and time-stamped too, that you were at your computer using the handle ‘monkey-face’ to slander me. Slander me horribly.”
He pauses again, and then:
“And, so, do you deny this?”
I look over at the judge, and when he gives me a really nasty look I notice he’s wearing a cap that says Langpo.”
On recess, and this is all feeling very Law-&-Order, Silliman approaches me:
“you know we can settle this all very simply.” And he winks at me again.
The next thing I know I’m in a hospital room. In the bed next to me’s a young woman in a suit. She’s got a small purple bruise on her right cheek.
“We should sue,” she says.