Not In Prison

by Richard Lang

J. was a man of about sixty, gray haired with a gentle, open face. I stood up, shook hands, and sat down with him at the small square table. We exchanged some small talk to begin with but soon enough got on to what really interested us both—Who we really are.

I asked how long he would be in prison. "Probably for the rest of my life," he told me. Yet throughout our meeting, I did not detect one hint of self-pity in him. In fact, quite . . .

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