The court reporter tilts her head into the microphone. “Al Ibn Al-Moody stands charged–”

“Hold on. Defendant, you didn’t wash your hair.”

“That’s right, your honour. Not this morning.”

“I find that incredibly disrespectful. Do you have an explanation?”

“Your honour, it was chaos,” (at the back of the courtroom, one of the police officers is sniggering at this, as he sniggers at every excuse) “this morning as I was trying to get ready, my five children were hollering and carrying about, turning the taps on and off, rubbing jam into the dinner table, pouring the milk out onto the floor for the dog–”

“You have five children?”

“Yes sir.”

“Are they all your dependants?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Do you work?”

“No, sir. I support them just through my pension and retirement fund, which, to tell you the truth, isn’t nearly enough.”

“Well. Alright. Will you plead guilty to the lesser charge?”

“Yes sir.”

“And do you understand the consequences of pleading guilty to that lesser charge?”

“Yes sir.”

“Prosecutor, do you accept his plea?”

“I do, your honour.”

“Alright. The fine will be lowered to forty dollars. Take one of the green sheets in front of you. You’re free to go.”