I was not yet of an age to know how old Danny was, not just by the look of the man, he was adult, certainly older than 30, maybe 40 something.
I knew Danny was a lawyer. I was a 2nd year law student who needed a lawyer.
You walked through the door of Danny’s White Plains office, and Danny was right there, sitting at a worn mahogany desk, covered with papers and files, the desk at right angles to the front door, the office was that narrow.
To pull up a chair to Danny’s desk would block the front door.
Danny said, “So what’s the matter?”
“This young lady in her Dad’s station wagon,” I started, “ran through a red light, slamming into my motorcycle, converting my BMW into a large paper weight, breaking my leg, and this is why I’m here, she’s got the nerve to sue me for what she did.” Continue reading