In your right hand, the newest gadget -- silver, expensive, smooth. In the time it takes your heart to pump a single cup of blood, you’ve made over a million dollars. On the street below the ledge where you stand, your brand new Rolls Royce. With a step forward, you hope your aim is true.

In the moments before dawn, you awake. There is a hand on the pillow beside you, attached to an arm, body, face you don’t recognize. You run to the bathroom -- in the mirror, a face you don’t remember. You don’t know if it’s him or you who is a stranger.

Without cellmates, my only interactions are with guards -- well-armed, burley, ready. After the killings, they needed somewhere to house the evil. This place was built for me. But even guards are made of flesh.