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Traffic stalled out where I-75 met I-10 on the way back, a not-uncommon interstate affliction. My eyes were punishing me for the lack of sleep, and the sight of all the motionless cars made them itch even more. What should have been a three-hour trip stretched closer to four, and only a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans Stanford had tucked in with the cannoli kept me going. By the time I reached the criminal attorney’s office in downtown Tallahassee, not far from my own, it was nearly five p.m. Worn out, jangley-nerved (I’d eaten almost all the espresso beans), rubbing my eyes and crossing my legs (I hadn’t dared to stop), my hands shook as I handed the documents to his receptionist.
My itchy eyeballs were floating when I burst through my own office door. I practically threw the
