Unrepentant, Pale-faced, All-American Manhood at the Louima Trial

To be honest, this reporter missed the grueling days of Louima's testimony for reasons of no interest here, first arriving for last Thursday's afternoon session when tapes of a dispatcher's exchanges with various patrolmen the morning of Louima and Volpe's alleged encounter were played. Appropriately enough, these recordings sounded for all the world like DJ Spooky was in the house serving up dispatches from the radical fringes of electronica and cryptography. They came replete with long whistling patches of white noise and dead air occasionally disrupted by fast-flying ejaculations of garbled police code. Afterward, Prosecutor Thompson would have the audio flotsam deciphered on the witness stand by the saucy and expert Dispatcher Dawson who took the stand rocking an ebony hat, rose-tinted shades, a gold chain necklace, and a smart and flowing black pantsuit. Considering the informative yet quotidian tedium of these exchanges, and the showy and brief but near-pointless cross-examination of Dawson by each of the defense attorneys— it's no wonder Judge Nickerson perked up almost salaciously at day's end when asking lead prosecutor Thompson if there would indeed be nurses' testimony on Monday. As Louima's departure ensures this trial will now be short on narrative jouissance and long on clinical exegeses, the judge will apparently have to make do with crude medical data in lieu of more intimate reports of violation from this seamy case's underbelly.

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