I wrote Labyrinth as I sat in administrative segregation at Coffee Correctional Facility, a private prison in southern Georgia. I wrote the manuscript in long hand making a chair of an impromptu stack of books and yellow envelopes while facing my bunk, a steel rack, which would serve as a makeshift desk. The event which gave rise to this book was the result of a brief, casual conversation with a fellow inmate. One Sunday, in an open dormitory, as I sat on my rack nibbling from a bag of popcorn. Lights were extinguished as prisoners played cards, chess, watched television, exercised or slept. It was a weekend when only two meals are served. This hungry young man unwittingly suggested a theme. Sharing popcorn, we conversed, as he related that he had been at many prisons in his short bid. Detailing his sojourn became the central theme of this book.
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