He doesn’t miss sameness. No, not the sameness. The sameness of lapping the gravel track in ellipses to nowhere for 3,000 days, the same treeless yard, the same bleachers, faceless, the same conversation each day and each week. Not frigid concrete and pseudo brick walls, the cinder block shelves in a make-shift greenhouse. The… Continue reading One Thing He Misses, from Life in a Prison