Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. But it was her proof. He appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his visit, curiosity. For a long time neither spoke again. After all, they’re history in the making.
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