Editor's Note: Catch up on our TWBG series by checking out the first five episodes: Part I , Part II , Part III , Part IV , Part V . Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

They were the worst cannoli I have ever had.

Maybe it was the nearly 12-hour refrigeration-less delay between time of purchase and consumption, maybe it was the fact that whatever recipe they used to concoct them was anything but traditional, or maybe it was the simple fact that nothing could possibly taste good after a night spent in a filthy, stinking jail.

With the taste of rotten air, rotten bodies, and rotten cannoli in my mouth, I tried to go to bed at 7am, but with my appearance in court scheduled at 11 it was useless to try to rest. Besides that, I was so fired up and agitated that laying down felt like defeat, death, or both. I showered twice.

My wife and I arrived at the Atlanta/Fulton County courthouse about an hour early because Dollar Bill’s lawyer had advised us to talk to the prosecutor about the situation- apparently there was some kind of “first offender” intervention that he could propose that would result in a lenient sentence and no permanent record. All I had to do was plead guilty to the charge- good, old fashioned disorderly conduct. Fortunately, it wasn’t assault and battery since that would have been a much more serious offense. I was more than willing to plead guilty; I was proud of what I had done and aside from that, there was no reason whatsoever to try to claim innocence.

The prosecutor was extremely nice. I explained the situation to him and he just looked incredulous. “Y’all are supposed to be having fun there, what happened?” He was more than willing to intercede. I always think that when folks working in law come across something so frivolous and silly as a person brought up on charges for pushing someone else that they’re somewhat relieved; it’s got to be refreshing to deal with someone roughly normal rather than the usual drunks, lowlifes, reprobates, hooligans, and other criminal detritus that file in and out of city court every day.

The Barrister arrived some fifteen minutes before the hearing and brought with him one of the “bodyguards” he had with him when he staged his coup. They were all decked out in their lawyerly garb, dressing to intimidate in dark suits, big-striped ties, and heavy wool overcoats. They looked like they were dressed for the trial of the century—when someone shows up for court and they look overdressed it’s pretty weird. I didn’t even wear a tie.

He sat right behind the prosecutor and kept pestering him like a petulant child, trying to explain the situation and probably trying to squeeze out some kind of solidarity between legal professionals to leverage against me. It didn’t work. All that happened was that the prosecutor was getting visibly annoyed by The Barrister’s constant haranguing. The prosecutor turned to him and said “Sir, he’s already pleading guilty. What else do you expect me to do? Please take a seat or I’m going to have you removed.”