Rows of concrete block buildings faced me as I walked towards the electronic gates. Video cameras perched on top of the razor-wired fence. From experience, I knew one deputy monitored from a control booth.
On a Friday night, not many visitors went to the jail. Only single men. Divorced, like me. And lonely.
I had an hour before attorney-client visitation was over, and I didn’t care who watched. As the first set of gates opened, I walked onto the concrete pad, turned, and watched as the metal portal enclosed me. I heard the clink, confirming the gate was locked. A second passed, and the next gate opened. I repeated this step one more time. When I passed the third set of electronic doors, I’d finally arrived in the main lobby of the jail.
I showed my Bar card to the visitation deputy who
