I am letting my consciousness stream. The law is a jealous mistress and she doesn’t allow lawyers to let their minds range far afield these days, or wax philosophical much (or wane metaphysical either, if that is a thing, I think it is, or at least I’d like it to be). Billable hours and thinking don’t dance and their daddies don’t rock ‘n’ roll. But for the next 750 or so words, my mind is floating free, existentially hither and tither and twither and whither?
Free to wonder why and what and where and when and who and how. Did the Founding Fathers do that when they sat in Philadelphia and drafted our owner’s manual? I bet ol’ James Madison and his cohort of constitutional cronies just sat out at night and stared at the infinite beauty of space and the stars and dreamt that what they wanted to be, would be. Or maybe they punched a clock, too? I can see the time sheets now: DRAFT ARTICLE II 3.4 HRS. (RETURNED — THE PEOPLE DON’T ALLOW BLOCK-BILLING).
