10
The next morning I sat at my desk, bleary-eyed, mangling a paper clip and eying my long-empty travel cup from home. It felt like time for a refill.
I hadn’t slept well the night before. I wish I could blame lascivious thoughts of my upcoming weekend, but it was always hard to settle down when I’d been out and about, doing my best Samantha Spade impersonation. Sitting on the couch with a cup of herbal tea, watching my fish Jackie and Bruce do absolutely nothing, had relaxed me. But the challenge came as I lay in bed.
Staring at the ceiling, my mind played movies of the juvenile center horrors I’d read about that day. Of children who knew nothing with more certainty than that they were alone. That no one cared. That no one would come to save them.
Eventually I’d dozed off, but I’d wok
