When Jamike was almost done, when he’d read the part about his hopelessness in prison, his incarceration for a crime he did not commit, the horde of unwanted memories rushed into his head. At once the violent rage came upon him again. In terror, he seized the man and began to hit him. But the memory did not abate at all. It was as if the images held his two hands and forced him to see what he did not want to see, and hear what he did not want to hear.
