Moral Mondays and the Lifeblood of Organizing
9/17/15
The jail’s detention aide handed me four pieces of plain white bread and a handful of toilet paper and slammed the cell door shut. I took a deep breath to take in my new environment. I was alone in a cold, small, white cinder block cell. A flimsy, worn-down mat lay on the cement bench, which wrapped along two sides of the cell. The florescent light glared above. The stainless steel toilet connected to a water fountain sat in the corner.
