Jury-Law books

The session ends with a few loud keystrokes and the
slow disassembly of the laptop.
"Ready for lunch?" Stallman asks.
We walk to my car. Pleading a sore ankle, Stallman
limps along slowly. Stallman blames the injury on a
tendon in his left foot. The injury is three years old
and has gotten so bad that Stallman, a huge fan of folk
dancing, has been forced to give up all dancing
activities. "I love folk dancing inherently," Stallman
laments. "Not being able to dance has been a tragedy
for me."
Stallman's body bears witness to the tragedy. Lack of
exercise has left Stallman with swollen cheeks and a
pot belly that was much less visible the year before.
You can tell the weight gain has been dramatic, because
when Stallman walks, he arches his back like a pregnant
woman trying to accommodate an unfamiliar load.
The walk is further slowed by Stallman's willingness to
stop and smell the roses, literally. Spotting a
particularly beautiful blossom, he tickles the
innermost petals with his prodigious nose, takes a deep
sniff and steps back with a contented sigh.


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