We began each day in treatment with a moment of silence for the victims of abuse.
The prison choir was asked to sing at the Maundy Thursday service. I’d never been to one. It would be interesting. There would be foot-washing.
I was looking down at the yard from the third tier. The guys who had been playing a pick-up game of basketball were now tramping through the perennials.
I was at my workbench in the hobbycraft shop when a fellow prisoner sidled up to me and asked in a low voice, “Doc, got a minute?