A change in fortune

I met him when he joined a program I was facilitating in an Ulster County prison. Although he was younger than me, he looked ancient — an old man, old before his time. He hobbled into the room, in pain from sciatica with his 55 years locked up in airless spaces, with minimal good food and health care, bad teeth showing through a wane smile, sparse gray hair falling on his shoulders.  Resignation and abdication were the expressions he wore, a surrender born of hopelessness . . .


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