So, when the judge looked down at me after he'd read the verdict, I was filled with a tingly chicken skin bumply wumply all the way down to my toes. The wriggling skin began at the neck of course, and I felt immediately as though the man was physically raising my hair on end like some sort of mind taking reptile from under the logs of California Adventure.
I was never able to become a banker, and thus I'd attempted to kill myself by swallowing an entire bottle of no-doze in the 14th Street Wallgreens. It was this that had landed me in the courtroom: this refering to the bottle of no-doze, rather than the actual act of killing myself.
The Judge smirked up at the waiting cameras and slammed his gavel down upon it's flashing, LED encrusted stand. The applause light came on, and I was covered in the tar of a jeering crowd, mocking me with its hands.
I was then carted off to the little flapping doors that led to the operating room. In a few moments, I was strapped to the table, laid open and naked for a new set of ceiling-mounted cameras. No applause or crowd here. This was a dignified affair. The needle was slowly inserted into my arm and I was laid out before the stars, gasping into the night sky. Damned for all eternity by the Wall Greens drug store.