It’s a humid, August afternoon. The courtroom is packed. There aren’t many murder trials in this town. Everyone and their mother wants a seat. The stench of sweat fills the wood-paneled room. The judge enters. The crowd rises on command. The accused is called to the stand, sworn in. To the disappointment of many gathered to gawk, he hardly looks a murderer. He looks like the guy next door—you know, the good neighbor.
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