In the dream, the evidence is empty coffee cups

I'm in the courtroom again, but the files on the table are just coffee cups, every one drained and stacked with the grounds still inside. The judge keeps asking me to explain what they prove, and the client is watching me from the door with his hands folded, and I know I'm supposed to weigh them, but they're all the same weight — hollow and warm from someone else's grip. I wake up still trying to read the rings left on the paper.