The room looks like any other prison cell. Cold. Dank. Musty…
The walls are lit only by the shadowy light filtering in from that very small and too high up barred opening in the 18 inch thick centuries old pock-marked concrete…
Slowly, grudgingly, yet with a sense of accomplishment for just being able to do so, he reaches his atrophied arm up to the wall and scratches another notch… this makes his 753rd nicotine withdrawal… A scene played out in prison cells all around the world. Except this one is only in his mind….
