We walked in and out of half a dozen restaurants. I told him any place he selected was fine with me, for I knew if I ruled out anything, that would be the one cuisine Scott just had to eat, and if I made a suggestion, Scott would find something wrong with the restaurant. We ended up at a decent, inexpensive Mexican place on Eighth Avenue and 18th Street.
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I thought about how rare it is that I’m in situations where my opinions and thoughts are truly given the same amount of respect and weight as the next person’s. I thought about my other potential fellow jurors, where they were coming from and how we all fit into the U.S. court system.