Outside the steps of the levitating City Hall Courthouse, a small crowd consisting mostly of families and umbrellaed journalists stood in a flock under the assault of the sky storm, conjecturing, spreading misty clouds of breath up into an already tense atmosphere, with swirling talk of worries and fears. Shortly before twilight, a representative of the court stenographer appeared on a balcony from the Courthouse. Reading aloud from a small, thin sheet of the recorded session no more than a paragraph or so’s worth of information, the representative then offered a slim commentary, the brevity of which was based on a verbal agreement with the Judge and the Jury not to be very specific about facts until an investigation into the matter could be recorded by the stenographer; all in all, from what I gathered, the defendant in the trial had evaporated into thin air before a verdict could be reached. “We’re very sorry to you all,” the representative muttered into a microphone. Her words fell down upon the crowd as heavy as the rain, if not with an even greater weight. The crowd of families and journalists erupted into a fever of questions, but the representative had folded the stenographer’s sheet and backed away from the balcony, out of sight.