and locked eyes with me, and I
guess he thought I looked like a
kindred soul he could talk to. He
came straight at me and started
crying about how he’d been arrested
and thrown in jail and the gangs
had stolen his clothes and his shoes
and raped him and beat him every
day. He wasn’t some ruffian. He
was well-spoken, educated. He’d
been waiting for a year for his case
to be heard; he wanted to kill
himself. That guy put the fear of
God in me.
I looked around the holding
cell. There were easily a hundred
guys in there, all of them spread out