“Did you know that there are hundreds of people released each year from prison because they’ve been found to be innocent?”
Time did not heal wounds for him. Not for someone who could never forget. Their murders were as fresh now as when they occurred. Not just the visuals, but also the emotional hatchet attached to the mental images. They would be until the day he died.
… malodorous air that hung over them all like a marine layer of toxic gas.
America didn’t have prisons. It had chaos pens where men were transported back seventeen centuries. Where the strong survived until it met something even stronger, and where the weak died every time.
“And you bought me quinoa? Seriously? Is that even a food?”
“ … Do you think it has anything to do with their deaths?” “I don’t see how. But what I don’t see right now could fill a library.”