It is break time at the prison upholstery shop. We work in a large, brightly lit room with a high ceiling and concrete floors. Along one cinderblock wall, chairs are lined up, mostly facing outward. This is where we sit for the 15 minutes we […] See more
My father, deceased for some years already, would have been very happy being in prison. Not because of the food, the filth or the confinement. But because in his salad days he was a crime reporter for the Montreal Star, a daily newspaper that closed […] See more
I awake in a sweat, dazed and disoriented. I turn my pillow over to the dry, cold side underneath, and think: a few seconds ago, I was walking along Sherbrooke Street on a sunny summer’s day, rummaging through second-hand bookstores. Not now. My eyes adjust […] See more
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