You’re given a chance to shorten the length of time before your court appearance by helping with the dishes at the jail. You take up the offer and you think maybe it’s just their way of appeasing your hard feelings at being taken in under such an inane law. A little boy who looks like he has some Native American blood in him comes up to you with a pack of cigarettes in one hand and a lighter in the other.
“This is for you from the guys on the inside,” the boy tells you in an uncouth whisper. “They call me Dakota. I do errands like this for people who’ve been wronged.”
“Uh…I’m sorry, I don’t –”
You were about to inform the kid you’re a non-smoker, but, inexplicably, you feel inspired by Dakota. You take the cigarette and the lighter and suck in a big huff.
Go to page 55.
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