”Matt Porter… This is what they call you, right?” A sullen old woman spoke out. “Very smart name, indeed, after all. It's what I can expect from Ed's nephew.”

  ”Sure, if that’s what you wanna call me.” Matt sighed. “Listen, if you would please get this over with a lot more quickly. I’d be very grateful. I’ve got a lot of things I want to settle with after this.”

Matt twiddled fingers, counterclockwise. Later, he popped his joints.

  ”...Yeah, I’d love to. Though, this thing is kind of time consuming. Sorry for the inconvenience, Matt.”

The woman placed a file onto the table. Said file was quite wide, looking like a dictionary of two languages combined. Matt continued to stay silent, as he stared somewhere else.

  ”So, let’s go on with a list of your achievements,” The woman continued. “At age seven, you were caught stealing… a Yoshinato-style ice cream from a local convenience store near your home in Inner City. The judge sentenced you to 2 days of juvenile detention.”

  ”Yes, that seems about right.”

  ”Tell me, something Matt. What flavor was the ice cream you tried stealing?”

  ”...It’s a bit hazy in my memory, but I guess it was butterscotch. It is my favorite flavor.”

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  ’Butterscotch… You really like destroying your teeth don’t you?”

Matt nodded, slouching against the seat. He took a quick glance towards the ceiling, only for a moment to take a break from eye contact. The old woman’s stare was bold, and pressuring. They began to tie a violet ribbon internally, against his beating muscle.

  ”Anywho, a few months after being released. You became a witness in a very serious case. The murder of the Stykke socialite, Maude Fowler. You were quickly removed though, by the talented attorney, Nicolas White.”

  ”Right, I remember it fondly… Don’t know why’d they think I did it though.”

  ”Right, and then at age nine, you were caught assaulting your classmate, Ronnie Tyne. Lucky that she survived those blows. Guess you took it seriously when boys fight over girls.”

  ”No, I am not interested in that kinda thing.”

  ”...I want you to know this, Matt Porter. Trouble follows you everywhere, and it’s all because of butterstot— I mean, butterscotch ice cream. Boy, you really have some weird connections.”

  ”...Is that all?”

  ”Well, if you count the accidental arson of the port, being caught in a drug deal, and another theft at the same convenience store, all at the age of eleven… No.”

The woman coughed like a sleeping volcano. It felt… awkward, due in part to the humming of the conditioners. It sent a chill to his spine, literally and verbally. Matt twiddled his fingers some more, and fixed his slouching stance. He'd rather stay coddled for a while.

  ”Now, you’re a prime suspect of a murder case… just like in the past, yes. I don’t think they’ll let you go this time, due in part to the long list of offences and the footage that they’ve captured. They’ll probably send you to juvenile detention for a minimum of four years.”

  ”...”

  ”I wish you the best, regarding this.”