Chapter 3
Gabriel awoke when the jailers wheeled a cart down the aisle between the cells and shoved supper under the barred doors. The food smelled greasy, stale, and flavorless. It tasted the same way. Washed down with water, it would fill a man’s belly and keep him alive, though. Gabriel could not remember his last meal, so he cleaned up the beans and rice, the brittle tortilla and the few shreds of stringy meat. He emptied the glass, too, and then stacked it, the tray and the flimsy plastic fork neatly back by the door. He used the urinal and again sat on the bunk.
There was nothing to do. At least he was alone. In some ways, he found that a relief. If anyone knew what he was accused of, they’d probably have a million questions, which he was in no way prepared to answer. A cellmate co
