In morning light it looks almost pink, a substantial place, surrounded by rivers of rushing traffic. The structure has been made earthquake resistant, its foundation far underground consisting of huge wheels. A jolt and the building will roll, but not crumble. In theory. The view from the courthouse steps isn’t bad, Lake Merritt to the east, and the tall apartment buildings that grace the shore. You pass through a metal detector, and a sheriff’s deputy makes you open your purse, your briefcase. I had to pull my beret off and let the deputy dangle it in his fingers, as though he was surprised it didn’t keep its shape. People extend their arms out from their sides, detector wands waved up and around their limbs. You can tell which ones are lawyers, cracking their briefcases, gazing past the security barrier to the bustling figures beyond. Some of the citizens are new to it, though, and they thank the woman holding their car keys out to them on a tray, careful to show no offense. An arraignment is usually simple.
