A sharp burst of laughter brought his attention abruptly back to the action up front. The old man had dropped his hat and an attendant had kicked it away from him. The white haired castoff shuffled across the room to retrieve it.
"I missed something!" Stan said, testily. He turned to his neighbor and was hurriedly filled in on what had happened.
"Well, I'm leaving!" Julie said. She got up and edged her way out to the aisle. Stan made no protest. He was concentrating on the performance up front.
Julie hurried up the aisle and pushed through the pack of people standing in the back of the room. She found the usher at the door. "I'd like to leave," she told the girl. "May I please have my ID?"
The usher's face was expressionless, her voice efficiently official. "ID cards will be returned at the conclusion of the session."
"But I want to leave now!" Julie protested. "I don't want to see any more of this!"
"No cards can be returned until the session is concluded," the usher recited. It was a final decree of official policy. There could be no arguing, no appeal from the decision. There was no alternative but to abide by it.
Julie returned to her seat. She squeezed past a barricade of knees, rousing disgruntled comments from several of the spectators.
Stan glanced up at her as she settled back into the seat at his side. It was only a glance, and then his eyes were fixed once again on the magistrate, the attendants, and the "undesirable" being judged.