The sun was just settling as I stepped out of the block and onto the concrete walk leading to the main corridor. It put a pale pink glow along the underbelly of the overcast clouds. The rec yard was packed with prisoners from the many cell blocks surrounding it. That’s where everyone had gone, off to get the latest gossip or do some piece of business, to gamble, to fight, to struggle through their little lives on this little square of desert surrounded by high walls, high-voltage fences and gun towers.
Many people paying attention to the story of Ross lately, and it's sitting heavy with me especially after taking in this piece of writing. That Ross would write the color of the sky with such care, I think it's very tender. Great article.