A guard checked a number against the ID bracelet on the man’s wrist while marking his name off a clipboard as he stood in line.
Another chained the man’s cuffs to his waist and shackled his feet together, so he had to shuffle to board the prison bus behind other stumbling inmates in orange jumpsuits. He heard some snickering among the jailers about something called “diesel therapy.” The term puzzled him, but amid the scuffling and stern faces, he had no time or nerve for...
From the postmark date, I could tell that the letter had probably been sitting in my newsroom mail slot for a couple days. Unopened.
Most of the correspondence I care about comes by email or text. My paychecks are direct deposit. My bills are electronic. Checking snail mail isn’t a high priority for me—even at work.
The first thing that caught my attention about the manila envelope was the lack of a return address. Sometimes sources send letters to journalists without wanting...