This morning I called a young friend to tell him that my reference letter for him to give to the judge in another midwestern state — where he is to appear soon for his probation felony hearing for “possession,” of a tiny baggie of weed as he traveled through on the interstate — is ready for him to pick up. I can’t just email the letter. It has to be signed and dated. I can’t address it to a person, but to “Your Honour” (note the British spelling).
Once he gets there (by bus), he will have to wait around to see if and when the probation department here and there communicate on this matter. He tells me that the unfriendly probation officer there said it might take up to six weeks, during which time he will have to remain in that state. And do what? Remain alive, somehow, as a homeless person.
So the subject of this post feels particularly resonant to me now.