This morning found me at the hospital with one of my kids waiting to check in for a small, out-patient procedure. The number 699 flashed in red above the reception desk, I pulled number 714 and looked for a seat.
I scanned the chairs and noticed four men in matching orange jump suits scattered throughout the room. Sanitation workers? Prisoners? Nonchalant, I scanned the orange-suited men and saw that indeed they were prisoners, each of their wrists cuffed, their ankles bound in chains.
We took our seats just in front of one of the incarcerated. I offered a thick “excuse me” as I side-stepped his big, black shoes; noting the chain on his foot shackle hanging just over the turquoise blue Nike swoosh on his crossed feet. I thought to myself: that’s a powerful image.