The Right of Favour

There’s sweat rolling down the sides of his face and out the corner of his eyes, and he wipes it off with the back of his wrist, hoping no one would notice what he’s been doing ever since the meeting started. He thinks that certainly, it should be a very normal and natural thing to have an unannounced hierarchy in place – not even at meetings, but in public, on the streets, in gatherings, anywhere that has more than one person in close proximity to another.

It’s the kind of hierarchy that has nothing to do with individual feelings and sentiment, but rather with social equality. Everyone is really just looking out for themselves; everyone is looking for those similar to them or who can benefit them in some way, because everyone has become the judge and jury in their own eyes and the defendant in everyone else’s eyes.

There’s a rising cacophony of banging gavels drowning out the midnight air, so he decides to do things right for once by declaring himself to be a bad judge, and tries –  hopes – to make things right by dragging himself to court.

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