Editor's note: Our insomniac observer is taking time off during the holidays to get some sleep. Fluorescent Justice will be back in January.

A studious young woman sits in the front row in night court earnestly observing the proceedings.

She is bookish and attractive, but more importantly to the officers, the woman has no connection to the goings-on or the participants.

The combination of long delays and the fact that the majority of the uniformed officers are male, raises this female's status to special guest.

The men invent reasons to pass nearby and readily answer questions, animatedly boxing one another out.

The young spectator takes copious notes and absorbs the attention without quite understanding its motivation.

A few rows behind is an older, but equally attractive woman. She is waiting for a boyfriend, or husband or brother. Her long legs are accented by tight black jeans and her dark turtle neck shapes her voluptuousness to weapon's grade.

Like every other defendant's family, this woman desperately wants: wants answers, wants expedience, wants attention.

Her womanly wiles have been trumped by the bespectacled one, and this clearly enrages her. All hip cocks, hair tosses and cool smiles go unrequited.

She decides to take matters into her own hands — and nails.

The shapely woman in black changes seats so she can sit right off the left shoulder of the note taker. She leans forward in the bench, resting her elbows on the seat back in front of her and clicks her prodigious manicure together.

The desired effect does not take long. The intimidating clicking in the younger woman's ear forces her to hurriedly pack her books into her bag and depart.

The victor leans in her seat satisfied and goes back to work throwing the eye to each badge in her vicinity.

The kinship of the holding cell is an undeniable reality. Sometimes the good-byes between released defendants are among the only positive displays of emotion.

A young woman gets cut loose on a drug charge after her boyfriend — soon to be ex — was pulled over while puffing on a joint.

No boyfriend in sight, but her father waits patiently, if a bit angrily, in the gallery. The young woman semi-successfully contains her emotions until she lands into her father's hug.

There she cries unabashedly.

The father soothes and lightly reprimands, all while trying to guide the girl out of the court room.

But, she refuses to depart, gesturing to her cellmate standing before the judge.

This individual is being admonished by the judge for her crack appetite.

The young girl and her father sit and wait for the resolution.

While waiting, the girl's father goes into his pocket at his daughter's insistence and produces a few crumpled dollars.

When the crack smoker gets RORed, the two women who met tonight behind bars embrace and the friendship bills are passed.

They leave the room arm-in-arm, trailed by the father, whose shock has advanced one more state.

How a criminal record can go from empty to full in moments — all because of an unused seat belt.

Click below to watch the story.



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As sure as leaves turning colors in autumn and flowers budding in spring, night court offers its own indications of a changing season.

With a unusually warm winter to-date, the puffy Northface jackets have been slow to appear. Only recently have they started to emerge.

But there is also a particular change of theme in arrests and arrestees: Marked up-tick in homeless folks in court.

Tonight alone has homeless people getting arrested for sleeping on subway seats and park benches, loitering and trespassing.

The reckoning suggests an unspoken contract between the homeless and the police. The deal can be interpreted as: Arrest me for nonsense and I get a warm place to sleep.

The temps are down to freezing in New York City for the first time this year and folks of every stripe have to do what they can to survive.

The blonde rides the bench and certainly looks like she's having more fun than the others who came before her.

She is in her late-20s and her head-turns and animated chatting are followed by her swinging ponytail.

Arriving in night court was the direct result of a night boozing in the city and then attempting to pilot her car back to New Jersey. The trip back was curtailed by an accident on Second Avenue.

She made no bones about who was to blame:

"The accident was my fault," she told the police. "I am a terrible driver."

Her attorney tries the ol' mother-in-the-hospital defense.

"Your honor, it has been an extremely stressful time for my client. She met friends downtown and had two glasses of wine."

The judge is beyond dubious. He explains that two glasses of wine could "not even come close" to producing the .12 she blew in the breathalyzer.

"OK, your honor, maybe it was three glasses," the defense offers.

He pushes on, delineating the various academic degrees this woman has procured and jobs she's held. Finally, her personal history is exhausted.

The judge agrees to ROR, but not without the stipulation that she surrender her license:

"You cannot drive. You CANNOT drive. Even if you are sober. Even if you are careful. You cannot drive."