Denver Bar Association
April 2007
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Denver Law — Year 2107

by Greg Rawlings

Editor’s Note: Due to an amazing wrinkle in time, we received this article from the future, depicting lawyers’ lives 100 years from now

by Greg Rawlings, Clone 42,
Registration #192366

Sitting in my pod on the 102nd floor of majestic Webb Memorial Hall, staring east over the vast sea that stretches from Switzerland to the famed resort Auroreopolis, I find it hard to believe that merely a hundred years ago — barely the lifespan of a cerebral implant law degree battery — you had to board a primitive plane and fly two hours to Mexico to find a decent beach. Now it’s a scant three minutes by Ritterliner to white sands and tropical scenery.

Denver: mountains, deserts, beaches — could there be a greater city in what’s left of the world in which to practice law?

The Mile High City of lore is now Stilt City, with gleaming glass skyscrapers perched atop massive stone arches, recovered from quarries in what was once the Great Midwest. And the crown jewel of this remarkable urban oasis, Denver, the capital of The One Rocky Mountain State, nothing less than the legendary Hickenhilton Hotel. What could surpass its 142 stories of mirth and madness, with the rotating Hick’s Place on top, modeled on a setting from a now-forgotten "film" called, I believe, Casa Blanco. Running a close second though, has to be the new Al Zinn Justice Center. Its 300 courtrooms, scattered throughout 86 floors and 12 contiguous buildings, contain only the latest in legal mechanisms, as well as The Wynkoop Legal Theory Center and Macro-Brewery, and a 24-hour Caffeine Ingestion Ward.

What would lawyers of yore make of this magnificence? They would certainly shudder in awe. This is a temple to reason and intergalactic corporate cashflow. It is a poem in glass, steel and holographic imagery. With near-instantaneous supercomputer decision making, easily programmable robot jailors, lawyer proxies, and nuclear death-ray cages, the interior is as amazing as the exterior. The whole package screams Justice (at 2000 decibels, once per hour, Denver Standard Time).

O, to be a lawyer in this great, gleaming white city. O, to watch fools go blind in the mirrored reflection of the bare peaks of the Rockies. O, sweet binaries of life. I pity the sad, moronic fools who came before me, who practiced law without even the most rudimentary cerebral implants, who lived in the freakish heights of a freakish city, before the great freedom of the great warming, before Denver became the true capital of the Remaining World.

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