The cube room at the prison was crowded and silent, both rare. The warden had given permission to open the cells so that everyone could get to the news. Bobón and three other guards covered the doors, armed with tanglers, but nobody was going anywhere.
Bobón was still sorting out the murder he’d witnessed this morning. Not the first one, but Ybor was just a nice kid who hadn’t hurt anyone. Why’d the warden have to drag him in there to watch? And now this damned thing.
Maybe it was all just a long nightmare. Maybe he would wake up and it would just be another morning. But he’d felt that way before, and it never worked. Just in stories.
Why did so many people feel so bad about the president? Well, she’s pretty and smart and powerful, and maybe people who like one don’t like the other.
At least she never could of felt anything. That boy this morning went through all kinds of hell before he died. He couldn’t get it out of his head.
The inmates knew. The way they looked at him, it’s like they thought he did it. Not this time. Towelheads, watch out, though.
Davis had shut up and they switched to a local reporter.