First of all, I promise to be totally legal in what I write. So feel no need to call the authorities to say I am writing some underground coup against the justice system.

No need. Just a girl who’s watching people and serving her country with wisdom and discernment.

So far, I passed the search process. But it was a close one, since I almost
Forgot to take my gloves out of my pocket. We all caught that infraction just in time.

All of this is a couple steps above the airport, since they let me wear my shoes. (I chose them wisely: camel colored heels in a distressed leather that communicates discernment and wisdom and justice.)

I stood in the standing tube that’s very similar to the airport, where I must raise my hands above my head and pretend like it’s all natural for me to be frisked by an x-ray machine.

There is a sign that reads:


I do realize that second sentence is Spanish, loosely translated (based on tenth grade Spanish 2 with Mr. Bendekgey) without to move.

I prefer to believe they have called me, as a potential juror, a Sin Mover.

That is henceforth what I will call myself.

“My name is Tricia. I am here to serve my country and thereby move sin.”

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