From our Walt Whitman desk
I got cut. Whitey gave me my outright release yesterday from his defense-witness list.
One minute I’m there, the next I’m gone, kicked down the stairs like I’m Aaron Bleepin’ Hernandez or somebody.
Around the courthouse yesterday, it was like the Monday before the start of the NFL season in September. People milling about in confusion, not knowing what to do now that they’d been placed on witness waivers.
Well, Carr knew what to do: spend the rest of the column fantasizing about what he would have said if he had been called on to testify . . .
Read the rest at It’s Good to Live in a Two-Daily Town.