How ridiculous, though, that in the past she’d worried about things like wrinkled clothes or hosiery with runs, or cakes that fell or whether it’d be a rainy winter. Those trivial concerns just masked the unchangeable things that bred hopelessness: like murderers and rapists who would kill and rape again given the chance, starving inmates who work half the day with bleeding feet and hands, and guards whose humanity was erased permanently by a system decades older than the hills.
