In Defense of the Luck O’Cup Barista

I’m in class. We study a case of an employee who has made a ruckus of sorts at a coffee shop… The shop is called Luck O’Cup or something like that. It’s a quaint shop serving the upper-middle class. One of the employees instigated a fight or maybe he demanded better pay. The fight created a loss of revenue; even a bus boy was fired due to the financial loses. I have an unconscious¬†understanding¬†that this person is me, though this is not conscious to my dream self.

Anyway this is what we are studying in class.

Class is over and, for real, a case is called on this guy and I’m selected to be one of his defense lawyers. I’m bitter about this. I’m not a lawyer and I can’t make rhyme or reason about the case. Every defense I can think of seems a fabrication; on the other hand, the fellow seems innocent to me. That is, no laws were broken, he just was involved in an argument — an incident where he became angry and which happened to have some fallout.

The judge, a refined black man, discusses the case. As he does, he is panned by the prosecuting attorneys for being upper class and on the side of the shop. I’m dressed in a burnt brown suit; then, I notice the judge is wearing green. He mentions the store’s name… something clever like Luck O’Coffee… I realize everyone is wearing green, including me.

The prosecution begins to lay out there case. Like I said, I’m very uncomfortable because I can’t make heads or tails of any legal position. Everything seems made up. I think hard for some kind of argument. Then, I check back in my paper I did for class. I believe that the main thought train of the paper could fit into a substantive argument; it’s hard to say; it’s the closest thing I have to a genuine position and I’m going to have to defend a real man for his freedom.