The Marginal

The prison service truck slams on the brakes. You hear the click of the locks and the guards shout: "Everyone down, one by one, and without looking at anyone!" You feel the strong sun on the back of your neck as you step down to the yard. They escort you to the iron gate that separates the outside world from the San Onofre prison yard. When it opens, the noise hits you like a punch: cumbia music blaring in the background, shouts echoing from cellblock to cellblock, and the metallic smell of garbage and confinement.

Upon reaching the courtyard, the world stops. Hundreds of eyes are fixed on you. You are the center of attention, just like the other inmates, now searching for somewhere to take refuge.