She saw that I had finishedthe pot of coffee and insisted on making more. She poured me another cup,maybe she was trying to give me caffine poisoning ... thought chuckling tomyself. She sat down, no coffee for her she said, only water, she wasgoing through a body detox. I pulled out my notebook, ready to takenotes. She was talking small talk, not getting the point. I was nowgetting restless and wanted her to get to the subject of the interview. It was now 8.00am, the kitchen door opened and in. Soon, Sophia was escorted into my office. She was handcuffed and had legirons on. I had met her before, but was looking at her in an entirelynew light. At 35, she still had traces of youthfulness, but it was clearthat hers had been a hard life. She was only five foot-two, and didn'tweigh more than 110 pounds. Most people gained weight on our prisondiet, as heavy as it was on starches. Her arms were covered with ornatefloral tattoos. Her brown hair was cut in a short bob. In my mind's eyeI saw. More

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