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It's an unseasonably hot fall afternoon, and like many retired couples, Ed and Harriett Neufeld need something to do to pass the time.

"Do you want drug distribution or armed robbery?" Harriett, 77, asks Ed, 79, as they plan their afternoon in Rockville.

"Whatever you want, honey," Ed replies. His wife pores over the day's docket at Montgomery County Circuit Court.

The Neufelds are, as they put it, "the 13th and 14th jurors." Every week, they leave their Leisure World retirement community in Aspen Hill to watch lawyers argue court cases as defendants' lives hang in the balance.

"It's better than television, I'll tell you that much," Ed said.

For the past 14 years, since Ed retired as a civil engineer, the Neufelds have watched nearly 1,000 court cases. Their post-retirement hobby derives from their courtship in New York City when both were in their 20s, and Ed was looking for a cheap date. Because courtrooms are open to the public, the two would walk into night court after work or class and see whatever court drama awaited.

Bringing murderers, rapists and drug dealers into a courtship was a risky move for Ed, but Harriett, an aspiring lawyer at the time, "thought it was a wonderful idea." They have been married for 55 years.

Last week, after a morning spent watching the sentencing of a murderer's accomplice and then a wealthy couple settling a divorce, they decided a drug-distribution case was next.

A police officer was on the stand describing a drug deal he said went down just 14 feet in front of him in a Gaithersburg.

On the way home Ed and Harriett held their own jury deliberation.

Ed took the defendant's side: From 14 feet away, the officer could not have made out that $10 bill, he said. But Harriett believed the officer and decided to prove it from the passenger seat.

"You couldn't see this from 14 feet away?" she asks, pulling a $20 bill from her wallet.

Earlier in the day, after wandering the courthouse to see if any proceedings looked interesting, they found a divorce case, although they thought it might be a criminal case. Immediately upon sitting down, Harriett started deciphering the facts of the case.

"So far I've got a doctor and possibly some money laundering," Harriett whispers from the front row, the couple's preferred seats so they hear the proceedings. "There's money that should be taxed, but he's using it for something else."

During a recess, Ed walks out of the courtroom to talk to the lawyers. Moments later, he excitedly rushes back in to deliver the update.

"You'll never guess! It's a divorce case!" Ed exclaims. His excitement is fleeting; less than 15 minutes later, he dozes off as the lawyers pore over income statements.

That's usually the sign to move onto something else.

While on the surface, it appears the Neufelds find real people's legal matters to be trivial, there are moments throughout the day that present the reality of what's going on in front of them.

One such moment is Harriett's cell phone going off while a mother pleaded to a judge to give her son, who drove the getaway car in a murder, a lenient sentence. Instead of hisses and dirty looks from the people around her, a guard rushes over to tell Harriett to turn her phone off.

But during that same testimony, Harriett's eyes well with tears as the defendant's mother breaks down when describing just how hard she worked to keep her son out of trouble.

"When you sit there, you see these people are on trial for their lives," Ed said. "Not necessarily life and death, but just the prospect of spending 10 or 15 years in prison."

Both Ed and Harriett had an interest in law, but no formal training. Ed thought it would be a safer career to become a civil engineer. Harriett wanted to be a litigator but was dissuaded by family members who thought the legal world was "not a place for a woman." She studied business administration.

In the twilight of their lives, they are making up for lost time. In addition to attending the court cases, the Neufelds proctor the Maryland State Bar Exam occasionally. Harriett will soon begin volunteering with juveniles going through the justice system.

For nine years, Ed volunteered with the Montgomery County State's Attorney's Office as a "case screener," interviewing officers, witnesses and family members to help prosecutors prepare for trials.

"Ed carried as much of a case load as any law student," said Barbara Morales, the intern coordinator for the State's Attorney's Office.

After the case involving the murderer's accomplice, Ed had a brief chat with an old "boss," Assistant State's Attorney Stephen Chaikin, for whom Ed had previously screened cases. They began reminiscing about old cases, like the doctor who forged his certification so he could see women in their underwear.

"Ed solved that one for me," Chaikin said as Ed laughed.

Ed is modest about his evolving knowledge of the legal system, but in between his self-deprecating humor and his gregariousness in the courthouse — everyone from security guards to high-ranking prosecutors gave Ed a hug or a handshake throughout the day — he will occasionally slip into lawyerspeak.

"That guy who copped a plea is in a dangerous place, because the guys he ratted on are gonna kill him," Ed noted while analyzing the case of an accused murderer's accomplice, who agreed to testify against the shooter.

Ed's enthusiasm for law shines through during these instances of armchair analysis. Even though he often calls them "actors putting on a show," he speaks glowingly of the judges, the lawyers and the county court system as a whole. Not because it mirrors the dramatized version of law people see on television and in movies, but because he sees the realest version of court room drama you can find. Warts and all.

"I love this place!" he says out of nowhere while strolling through the courthouse halls, donning a wide smile and a twinkle in his eye. "This is what America's all about.

"Liberty and justice for all."