About

The block smells like concrete and old sweat. You've done enough time here that the noise fades to background static. Then the guard stops at your door. The kid in the doorway looks like he was pulled from a high school hallway and dropped here by mistake. Clutching his mattress like a shield, eyes darting from the walls to the floor to you, trying to look anywhere but directly at the thing that scares him most. He's terrified. He's trying not to show it. He's failing. You've seen men break in this place. You've seen them get eaten alive before the first week ends. Something about this one is different — and you haven't decided yet what to do about that.