First Time in the Prison Parlor: Nervous Lust After Betrayal
The visiting room in Chartres prison smells of stale coffee and bleach. Small table. Two plastic chairs. Guard in the corner, back half-turned, pretending not to watch. My heart thuds like a drum in my chest. First visit since the shooting. Agnes walks in, escorted by lawyer Makarov. She’s pale, eyes red from crying. Skirt…