Erica Lindbloom

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“I slept great.” When he turns to look at me, the dark circles under his eyes are almost gone. I feel stupid for thinking he was wandering around town in my Toyota in the middle of the night—he was clearly getting the night of sleep I wish I had. “That bed is so comfortable.” It’s really not. But I know how awful the mattresses are at the prison.
The Inmate
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