While I was working out at the Cardiac rehab unit, on a treadmill with my headphones blasting so I am not sure specifically what transpired, a corrections officer escorted a man in: tall, shaved bald, not unattractive, maybe a few years younger than me: he was wearing matching forest green shirt and slacks, and was wearing black boots but limply holding up a pair of white sneakers in his hands before his chest. The corrections officer handed an envelope to one of the trainers - from what I could tell, I assume the guy couldn't work out because someone wasn't there at that time (maybe it was that Corey, the only man who works there, wasn't in).
And it took me a few moments to register this: the guy was in handcuffs and shackles. He was a prisoner.
We caught each other's eyes, and smiled politely and nodded.
I would have loved to have talked with him. Not just to shakubuku him, but also just to hear his story.
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