clerk put the wrong date on the order and it was too much trouble to try to

change it. So voilà, today is your big day.” Rogers moved forward and held out

his hands so they could shackle him.

 

The older guard shook his head. “Your parole was granted, Rogers. You get to

walk out as a free man. No more chains.” But as he said this, he clutched the

handle of his baton a little more tightly and a vein throbbed at his temple.

 

The two guards led Rogers down a long hallway. On each side were barred cell

doors. The men behind them had been talking, but when Rogers came into view they

abruptly stopped. The prisoners watched mutely as he passed, then the whispers

started up once more.

 

Upon entering a small room he was given a set of new clothes, shiny lace-up

shoes, his ring, his watch, and three hundred dollars in cash. Thirty bucks for

every year he’d been inside; that was the state’s magnanimous policy.

 

And, maybe most important, a bus ticket that would take him to the nearest town.

 

He took off his prison jumpsuit and put on new skivvies and the fresh clothes.

He had to cinch the belt extra tight around his lean waist to keep the pants up,

but the jacket was tight against his wide shoulders. He put on the new shoes.

They were a size too small and pinched his long feet. He next put on the watch,

set the correct time using the clock on the wall, slipped the cash into his

jacket, and forced the ring over a knotty knuckle.