Juvenile Stories

I couldn’t believe it, on the second day, when they put me in that tiny room all by myself. A room with no windows and an ashtray. I looked at my watch. It was 8:20 a.m. I wanted to cry. Cry, because I was bored. Cry, for the poor kid whose file I had to read. Cry, because I didn’t want to sit in that room and read it, and cry, because I felt I should want to sit there and read it. Once I started reading it, I felt like i...