For some reason, I expect the prison to look different this time. I don’t know why it should, maybe because I’m different. But it’s the same. I’m in the same strawberry-stinking car of Brenda’s, and we’re pulling into almost the same parking spot. We go through the same routine with the same security guard taking my cell phone and purse and doing a metal scan. We walk through the same doors and wait in the same hard, plastic chairs.
But one thing is different. We’re three weeks closer to her release date.
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