Coleman shares a glimpse of his parking space. The faces of neighboring inmates appear in the narrow windows of their cells to view strangers gathered outside, a momentary diversion from their routine. There is little to captivate the eye or the imagination within his cell. A 1997 wall calendar. A few family photographs.
Conversation moves to the box of ramen noodles sitting on the shelf.
Coleman views institutional food as most schoolchildren do. So as his prison salary allows, he purchases items more to his liking from the commissary. No cash is supposed to change hands in this closed economy. His pay, minus federal income taxes, is deposited into a prison account. Up to half is held to pay court costs and fines or toward victims compensation, the rest to be used every Wednesday when commissary order forms are distributed.