I had grown used to it, or numb to it, but the first time I saw a man locked in a cell, I recoiled. Several emotions had hit me at once: desire to help him, to get him out of his predicament, fear of the awesome power of the system that kept him there, resignation that I could do nothing in that moment, then justification: he must deserve to be there, though I had no idea who he was.

But when I saw Digby, and he saw me, I just saw my knucklehead neighbor from my old cell block.