I knew she had moved on.

I knew she had to.

I focused on the routine.

I woke up at five in the morning when the bell rang.

I ate the lukewarm oatmeal in the cafeteria.

I worked in the laundry until three in the afternoon.

I spent an hour in the yard, walking the perimeter fence.

I watched the crows sit on the razor wire.

They were free to go wherever they wanted.

I envied them.

By the fourth year, the laundry job had taken a toll on my lungs.

I had a dry cough that would not go away.
The prison doctor gave me a plastic inhaler and told me to get a job with less dust.

I applied for a transfer to the library.

It took six months, but the warden approved it.

The library was a quiet place at the end of the education corridor.

It smelled of old paper and floor wax.

The windows were high and narrow, letting in small shafts of dusty sunlight.

My job was to repair the damaged books.

I used a small brush and white glue to fix the spines.