*Michael*
“I need you to put this on. Leave all of your personal items in the bin, and they’ll be passed off to your lawyer before we transport you,” the officer said, sliding an offensive orange jumpsuit across the metal table.
I picked it up and ran my hand across the black vinyl on the back of the jumpsuit, that read inmate. My stomach dropped.
“And hurry up. We don’t have all day,” the officer said, slamming the door behind him.
I slipped out of my leather shoes, pushing them under the metal table. I pulled on the orange jumpsuit replacing my Italian-made suit, and, unsurprisingly, it fit me like shit. Reality hit me hard when I looked into the two-way glass on the other end of the interrogation room, my reflection staring back at me.
