2Writing camp prompt: a car, 15 minutes.
I hadn't been in a car since I was last arrested, and if I was honest, the only difference now was that I wasn't handcuffed. A military-grade steel grate separated me from the two cops in the front. The woman was on her phone. The man tried to navigate the 5 o'clock Chicago traffic, and his fingers gripped the steering wheel so tight that a vein in his pasty neck bulged. I leaned my head against the tinted window, recently cleaned. I smeared my grubby hands down it. I noticed that my shoes had tracked dirt all over the pristine tan seat.
"Where are we going?" I asked, like a child. Just to piss the officers off.
"In," said the woman. "For questioning."
Clearly. I tugged against my seatbelt — it dug into the side of my arm.
"I want a lawyer," I told them.
The man grunted. "You are a lawyer."
"I want a good lawyer."