The trial seemed to drag on forever. Everyone thought he was guilty, but there just weren't enough known facts...

Oh sure there was the circumstantial evidence, or heresy, but nothing concrete, nothing you could go on. They only thought Chris did it because he was black, poor, and from the streets. He looked tough, but that's because he had to be. Life didn't hand him the silver spoon or even a fair fighting chance. Chris remembers that night. He had rounded the street corner of eighth and Tepford, heading home after the midnight shift at work. Chris could remember two men yelling, some pushing around and banging, and then as he got closer, the gunshot. The blood. The police sirens. Chris had stood there, absolutely frozen stiff with shock and nobody ever asked him any questions. They read him his rights and six months later, here he was. It was ludicrous that they even bothered reading him his rights that night....