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On Tracy's last day in prison an inmate from Tracy's old cell block walked up to her. "So you're getting out."
"That's right."
The woman, Betty Franciscus,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], was in her early forties,best newport cigarettes website138,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], still attractive,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], with an air of pride about her.
"If you need any help on the outside, there's a man you should see in New York. His name is Conrad Morgan." She slipped Tracy a piece of paper. "He's into criminal reform. He likes to give a hand to people who've been in prison."
"Thank you,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but I don't think I'll need---"
"You never know. Keep his address."
Two hours later,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], Tracy was walking through the penitentiary gates, moving past the television cameras. She would not speak to the reporters,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but when Amy broke away from her mother and threw herself into Tracy's arms, the cameras whirred. That was the picture that came out over the evening news.
Freedom to Tracy was no longer simply an abstract word. It was something tangible, physical,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], a condition to be enjoyed and savored. Freedom meant breathing fresh air,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], privacy,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], not standing in lines for meals, not listening for bells. It meant hot baths and good-smelling soaps,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], soft lingerie,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], pretty dresses, and high-heeled shoes. It meant having a name instead of a number. Freedom meant escape from Big Bertha and fear of gang rapes and the deadly monotony of prison routine.
Tracy's newfound freedom took getting used to. Walking along a street, she was careful not to jostle anyone. In the penitentiary bumping into another prisoner could be the spark that set off a conflagration. It was the absence of constant menace that Tracy found most difficult to adjust to. No one was threatening her.