I was in prison and you visited me

David enters the glass-enclosed room and greets me. We've met before, at the time he was first arrested years ago.

Like then, his eyes strike me. Back then, I felt like Jesus Christ was looking out at me from his catatonic stare. It isn't the same stare now. In his orange jumpsuit, with his hands and arms tightly cuffed and chained together at his waist, he smiles tentatively.

I glance at his feet where another set of chains constrain him. Like an animal, I think. Could he be dangerous? Might he feel extra vulnerable? I ask anyway, "Can I hug you?" He nods yes and I do. We sit in the two facing plastic chairs, and I move the small round table between us.

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