The true story goes something like this: I am a lawyer, he is my client. He is in prison and I go to see him. We sit across a small table; the seats remind me of preschool and we are far too large to take up such a small space. I have to ask a guard if I can hug him.
The guard, disgusted, says, "Yes, if you'd want to."
I wake up in darkness.
Keeping track of time has become difficult since he locked me in the closet. I can follow the light from the crack at the bottom of door but I can't tell if it's artificial or sunlight. Can't tell if it's day or night. Can't tell if I've been in here days or hours or maybe it's only been minutes.
"I have something to show you upstairs.