The Pale Banner
The banquet hall of St. Jude’s Correctional Facility smelled of boiled cabbage and stale lavender, a scent that clung to the wool of the staff uniforms and the synthetic fibers of the inmates’ jumpsuits. It was a Tuesday, which meant the cafeteria was crowded with the low, humming drone of three hundred men and women who had been deemed, by the machinery of the state, to be beyond the reach of...
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