The oppressive weight of the concrete walls and iron bars was starting to drive me to the edge. Each day bled into the next, and the monotony of prison life was wearing me thin. I’d resigned myself to the fact that I was stuck here for another month, but the thought of enduring another thirty days felt like it was fraying my grip on reality. It wasn’t that I wanted to escape; if I had wanted that, I would have taken a break from it long ago. What gnawed at me was the desire to leave with a clean slate, without the shadow of my past crimes hanging over me.
Three months had passed since my arrest, and I was still reeling from the shock of my trial. The prosecutor had presented damning evidence against me. Photos showing me at the scene of a high-profile robbery at the Central Bank of Americ
