The corridor is smotheringly hot. Light filters in sparingly thru microwave size barred holes hugging the spider web braided ceiling. A wall of black tempered steel bars separate me from the condemned as Barney scouts me to my elusive destination……….ironically, cell #8. But we are not in Andy’s jail up the river a ways in Mayberry, no; this place is right out of the movie Birdman of Alcatraz. Town’s people rumble that unexplained “accidents” and “disappearances” occur naturally around here, like apple pies on Aunt Bee’s window sill across from the ball park.
