Sure, here it is:
Nicky was looking down at the dotted landscape from the busy crossroads between West 4th street and West 12th. Colourful umbrellas floating around aimlessly. Yellow cabs honking at pedestrians and street lights flickering under the heavy rain. A stray sun ray pierced the heavy clouds, making its providential approach onto a nearby park bench where a beggar was sleeping under some rags, making it look like he was chosen for something. Nicky always loved to let herself prey to these diurnal reveries, where she tried to make some sense out of this broken world by replacing it with funny anecdotes. The air in the room was smelly. Sweaty. She was there for fifteen straight hours. Richard, her client, was sitting in a not so formal posture on a chair in the corner of the room. Are we done..? I am starving. Nicky smirked. Done? In four hours he have the first hearing. You are charged with murder, Richard. Murder! Richard mumbled something in an anemic try to reply. What’s that? Nicky asked in a patronal way. We’ve been over this for the last God knows how many hours, Nicky! I love her...I loved her… Richard started to sob.