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He sits for hours on end in the back room which he has appropriated as “his office” playing the guitar and composing songs, while the untidy piles of legal files from cases still waiting to be heard in the courts pile up around him.
He’s tired of the law, disillusioned with a legal system which is loaded against him, and judges who can be bought. He wears a tee-shirt worn to holes, and striped yellow boxer shorts. The stubble on his chin is now most definitely a beard, white to match his hair. A cigarette smoulders in the ashtray, a long line of ash ready to drop. He shuts me up impatiently when I ask him what he wants for dinner. “Can’t you see that I’m recording?” he waves to the Walkman on his desk “Now I have to start again.”
It’s a rap song he’s writing – after catching Eminem for the first time on MTV, a few days before - and realising this is a way to translate his frustration about some of the very issues that are inside those files.
He’s tired of the law, disillusioned with a legal system which is loaded against him, and judges who can be bought. He wears a tee-shirt worn to holes, and striped yellow boxer shorts. The stubble on his chin is now most definitely a beard, white to match his hair. A cigarette smoulders in the ashtray, a long line of ash ready to drop. He shuts me up impatiently when I ask him what he wants for dinner. “Can’t you see that I’m recording?” he waves to the Walkman on his desk “Now I have to start again.”
It’s a rap song he’s writing – after catching Eminem for the first time on MTV, a few days before - and realising this is a way to translate his frustration about some of the very issues that are inside those files.
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