By the time they were done stripping her, not just of her clothes, but of her humanity, she felt like evidence.
A prison guard with a clipboard shoved a folded stack of clothes into her arms. “Inmate issue,” she said. “Khakis, two shirts, undergarments, shower sandals, one towel. It’s all you get, so don’t lose any of it.”
Taylor looked down at the bundle. A pair of stiff khaki pants and two beige shirts. White cotton underwear and a sports bra sealed in plastic. The rubber flip-flops are thin enough to fold in half.
No one had ever warned her how ugly prison would be. Not in the dramatic, television way, but in the stripped-down, humiliating way. No one cares whether you still felt like yourself by the end of it.
“Change,” the guard said.
Taylor hesitated. “Here?”
The guard only st
