On a Saturday, the view is less than normal.
I have a light picnic outside of the jail entrance. And as I look out of my rear view mirror, I see your silhouette walking towards me.
You visited her on a Saturday because that was the only option. You said she wasn’t good and that’s the answer I expected.
What’s always a little funny to me is how beautiful the grounds are that surround the jail. They’re finely kept. The groundsman is nicely paid and the grass is never above the ankles.
What’s inside is a dark space with no windows. But what’s outside is the freedom we wish to tantalize our ‘inmates’ with.
They breathe the darkest air.
We breathe the freshest air.
Is that human, anyway?